VN Times has recently been accepting images and details of animals where you have been part of their rescue story. I have already entered my lovely hospice foster Moxie, but I thought I would expand on her rescue journey as she has helped others along her way.
Moxie was found about a year ago in Kent. She was dehydrated and very weak, and the vet she was initially taken to wasn’t sure if she’d make it through the night. Well, in true Moxie spirit, she rallied and ended up at a branch of the RSPCA. They knew she had some health issues and she wasn’t overly keen on the cattery, so she was up for being a “hospice foster”.
As ever, I wasn’t looking for a cat, but she was elderly, a bit smelly, drooled when you stroked her and, of course, was black. On paper, she sounded very much like my last cat, Edward, and just needed a retirement space with minimal stress, maximum comfort and a bit of love.
Grand entrance
She arrived and, as with all divas, knew exactly what she needed to make herself happy: food, snuggles and the opportunity to parade around the patio on a regular basis.
We settled into a routine and her confident diva personality shone through. All human visitors had to be announced and she would ensure she sat on their lap and made it so they couldn’t ignore her.
She was also popular with other felines. In her time here she attracted, not one, not two, but three boys into the yard (she must have had quite the milkshake).
Moxie’s paramours
Boy One is still in the area: The day after Moxie arrived, a long-haired boy version of her appeared in my garden for the first time ever. When I initially set eyes on him I was convinced it was Moxie. He’s remained around the garden and I had obtained a cat trap to try and get him neutered and into a home.
Then there was Boy Two – a tabby and white who is uber confident in and around the neighbours’ gardens. I arrived home to find he had followed Moxie through the microchip cat flap. She sat like a queen on her bed and hissed at him as he tried to escape through the patio doors. As he’s a neutered and cared-for boy, I let him free to roam the gardens. Then a few weeks later Boy Three arrived.
This time was different, as initially Boy Three did not make his presence known. Moxie was asleep on her bed and very relaxed. The only clue to his presence was that the kitchen and living room stank of boy cat pee… My nursing brain was confused. It couldn’t be Moxie’s litter tray, but where was the smell coming from? I started searching in the living room, asking Moxie where she had left a secret. She woke up and watched me make my discoveries.
First there were the urine-soaked PhD notes on my day bed. There was so much urine it had soaked through cushions, throws and duvets, so I had to strip the entire bed, and as I moved it out from the wall, there he was – a chunky face with big green eyes, black fur, white whiskers, a pink nose and cheeeeks for days – a 6kg muffin of unneutered tom boy.
Unexpected discovery
Moxie remained in her bed, clearly not bothered about the hunk she’d brought home, while Boy Three remained terrified at his discovery.
My feral nursing brain kicked in: Moxie and her bed and heat pad were moved to the kitchen, a hide was made under a bookshelf and the awful-smelling soft furnishings were dumped in the garden. At this point I had no idea what his temperament was like, but I knew he couldn’t live under the day bed and I needed to give him a brief health check, so I moved my cat trap into the living room and set it up.
Fast forward two hours and the house smelled, the garden smelled (I’d even had to apologise to my neighbours for the awful pong) and Boy Three had moved to the den under the bookcase, but showed no signs of being interested in the food I’d used to bait the cat trap.
My feral nursing brain kicked in again and, armed with a large towel, I swaddled Boy Three in it and transported him to the bathroom where there were no soft furnishing to ruin, but plenty of space to chill and a cosy towel rail. There he remained as I made the rescue connections and found a way to help him.
Final chapter
He wasn’t neutered, had ticks everywhere and was very shy, but pop some Dreamies™ in front of him, get out a soft brush and he was the love muffin he’d always wanted to be.
I had promised Moxie she would be the queen in her home and no other cats would take her shine, so a new home was found for Boy Three, who is now Billy. He has a household of people who adore him and he thinks they’re pretty nice too.
After these heroics, it was time for Moxie’s chapter to close. Almost a year after she was first found on the streets, her kidneys decided it was time for her to go. However, in her last few weeks she’d enjoyed seafood sourced direct from the fisherman’s boat, including crab and pan-fried skate cheeks – a fitting end for a girl who saved more lives than just her own.
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