My name is Casper and I crossed the Rainbow Bridge at 5:25 pm on October 22, 2009. I was six years old. I'm all good now, so you don't have to worry about me. I just wanted to share my story because I have a lot to say, and who knows, it may help some other cats in the future.
I had a very nice home at one time. My family chose me because I was more handsome than most cats. They gave me some cool name which I've long since forgotten. I wasn't crazy about being neutered, but now, more than ever, I realize why that had to be done. I didn't like the operation where they removed my claws and part of my knuckles either, that really hurt, but I recovered and I was able to spend some nice time with my family.
Then one day, I don't know how it happened, but I didn't have a home anymore. I don't think it was anything I had done. I was good, clean, healthy and handsome and I always showed my family cat-style gratitude. I was worried to say the least. I always knew where to find my food , my toys, my comfy bed, and my family members, and now that was all gone. Who would drive me to the vet? What on earth would I do? I had never caught a mouse in my life.
It was starting to get really cold and I was at my wit's end. The real trouble began when I realized that I couldn't defend myself against the other cats and wildlife who seemed to want to kill me. I would hide in people's bushes, under cars, the occasional garage, anywhere I could. I found a group of cats who I thought maybe I could hang out with, but they had their own clique and chased me away. Then it started snowing and because I was deaf, the only purpose my ears served was to attract frostbite and ear mites. I was starving all the time and I was losing lots of weight. I was glad there were no mirrors because I didn't want to see the image of the cat I was becoming. My natural instinct to groom myself became secondary to my constant struggle to survive and I did it less and less. Nobody was around me anyway, so it didn't seem to matter that my once beautiful white coat was a dingy, grey, stinky, matted mess. I survived the winter, but every day was hell, running – lots of running.
When it started to warm up, I felt a little more optimistic, but with the warm weather came the fleas – those Godforsaken things, they bit me until I bled! That was the most annoying and painful experience, or at least I thought it was, until I broke my leg - then I knew real pain. My leg eventually healed, but then I had to walk on my elbow, I got used to it. Because of my poor to non-existent diet, I got ring worms – that was just plain gross and I never did get rid of those.
Months turned into years and one day when I was too weak to run anymore, I looked up and someone was standing above me saying, "Poor little fella, let's get you some help." He scooped me up and took me for a drive. We arrived at this place where there were more people, many dogs and thousands of cats. What was this place? It was kind of appealing because it seemed like a shelter for me. I kept hearing the word, "stray." If "stray" meant starving and miserable, that was definitely me. They named me Casper. They took me to the stray holding room, which I found out later is where they keep the cats who may be claimed by their owners. Yeah, right, I knew better than to hope for that. The people seemed like they were contemplating what to do with me. When I started eating, they left me alone. God, was I happy to be eating, this was a safe place to be. I was in a cage and had to listen to other cats crying and was very unsure about my fate, but it was ok. People didn't come into this room as often as they seemed to the others. One day a nice girl with eyes almost as pretty as mine, looked at me and read about my sketchy history. I could tell she felt bad for me. I wanted to say, "You don't understand, this is so much better than where I was!" But, she still looked sad. She came back with a friend and they wrapped me in a towel and took me to a different room, a better, more spacious room where there were a few people, food, litter and a cozy bed. One girl started crying because she felt sorry for me. I didn't want that to happen. These people were nice to me, they would pet me even though I smelled really bad, they would scratch me under my chin and they let me sit on their laps, this was awesome! They seemed amazed that I would purr, (duh, I'm a cat, that's what we do when we're content.) I had no muscle tone, so walking around was very difficult, so I basically just stayed put in my bed. Then one day I got up and I tried to use the litter box and I couldn't go to the bathroom properly, it was embarrassing. Everything just started to hurt really bad. Something just wasn't right and I knew it. I couldn't help but cry out. The people urgently wanted to help me. The pain became unbearable and I was starting to lose consciousness and all I could do was pant.
I vaguely remember that they brought me to a different room, a more sterile room, but this room also had nice people. The man was explaining what was about to happen and two girls held me while he tried to give me a shot. The man said that because I was so skinny, he couldn't find a vein and he would have to give me a shot in the stomach and that "it" may take longer. I didn't know what "it" was and I really didn't care, I was just thankful for the blue fluid. I knew they were taking away my suffering. I was so thankful to have friends with me at the end. Eventually my heart stopped beating and it was all finally ok. When I looked down at my body, I could see what the people were seeing, no wonder they were so sad, I was a scary sight. But when I saw that my eyes were still a bright, beautiful green, I knew my soul was going to be just fine. They said I was brave, and that I was. I had to be.
Visit your local Humane Society, volunteer, donate, do whatever you can. These people are great and work hard and cry often.
I had a very nice home at one time. My family chose me because I was more handsome than most cats. They gave me some cool name which I've long since forgotten. I wasn't crazy about being neutered, but now, more than ever, I realize why that had to be done. I didn't like the operation where they removed my claws and part of my knuckles either, that really hurt, but I recovered and I was able to spend some nice time with my family.
Then one day, I don't know how it happened, but I didn't have a home anymore. I don't think it was anything I had done. I was good, clean, healthy and handsome and I always showed my family cat-style gratitude. I was worried to say the least. I always knew where to find my food , my toys, my comfy bed, and my family members, and now that was all gone. Who would drive me to the vet? What on earth would I do? I had never caught a mouse in my life.
It was starting to get really cold and I was at my wit's end. The real trouble began when I realized that I couldn't defend myself against the other cats and wildlife who seemed to want to kill me. I would hide in people's bushes, under cars, the occasional garage, anywhere I could. I found a group of cats who I thought maybe I could hang out with, but they had their own clique and chased me away. Then it started snowing and because I was deaf, the only purpose my ears served was to attract frostbite and ear mites. I was starving all the time and I was losing lots of weight. I was glad there were no mirrors because I didn't want to see the image of the cat I was becoming. My natural instinct to groom myself became secondary to my constant struggle to survive and I did it less and less. Nobody was around me anyway, so it didn't seem to matter that my once beautiful white coat was a dingy, grey, stinky, matted mess. I survived the winter, but every day was hell, running – lots of running.
When it started to warm up, I felt a little more optimistic, but with the warm weather came the fleas – those Godforsaken things, they bit me until I bled! That was the most annoying and painful experience, or at least I thought it was, until I broke my leg - then I knew real pain. My leg eventually healed, but then I had to walk on my elbow, I got used to it. Because of my poor to non-existent diet, I got ring worms – that was just plain gross and I never did get rid of those.
Months turned into years and one day when I was too weak to run anymore, I looked up and someone was standing above me saying, "Poor little fella, let's get you some help." He scooped me up and took me for a drive. We arrived at this place where there were more people, many dogs and thousands of cats. What was this place? It was kind of appealing because it seemed like a shelter for me. I kept hearing the word, "stray." If "stray" meant starving and miserable, that was definitely me. They named me Casper. They took me to the stray holding room, which I found out later is where they keep the cats who may be claimed by their owners. Yeah, right, I knew better than to hope for that. The people seemed like they were contemplating what to do with me. When I started eating, they left me alone. God, was I happy to be eating, this was a safe place to be. I was in a cage and had to listen to other cats crying and was very unsure about my fate, but it was ok. People didn't come into this room as often as they seemed to the others. One day a nice girl with eyes almost as pretty as mine, looked at me and read about my sketchy history. I could tell she felt bad for me. I wanted to say, "You don't understand, this is so much better than where I was!" But, she still looked sad. She came back with a friend and they wrapped me in a towel and took me to a different room, a better, more spacious room where there were a few people, food, litter and a cozy bed. One girl started crying because she felt sorry for me. I didn't want that to happen. These people were nice to me, they would pet me even though I smelled really bad, they would scratch me under my chin and they let me sit on their laps, this was awesome! They seemed amazed that I would purr, (duh, I'm a cat, that's what we do when we're content.) I had no muscle tone, so walking around was very difficult, so I basically just stayed put in my bed. Then one day I got up and I tried to use the litter box and I couldn't go to the bathroom properly, it was embarrassing. Everything just started to hurt really bad. Something just wasn't right and I knew it. I couldn't help but cry out. The people urgently wanted to help me. The pain became unbearable and I was starting to lose consciousness and all I could do was pant.
I vaguely remember that they brought me to a different room, a more sterile room, but this room also had nice people. The man was explaining what was about to happen and two girls held me while he tried to give me a shot. The man said that because I was so skinny, he couldn't find a vein and he would have to give me a shot in the stomach and that "it" may take longer. I didn't know what "it" was and I really didn't care, I was just thankful for the blue fluid. I knew they were taking away my suffering. I was so thankful to have friends with me at the end. Eventually my heart stopped beating and it was all finally ok. When I looked down at my body, I could see what the people were seeing, no wonder they were so sad, I was a scary sight. But when I saw that my eyes were still a bright, beautiful green, I knew my soul was going to be just fine. They said I was brave, and that I was. I had to be.
Visit your local Humane Society, volunteer, donate, do whatever you can. These people are great and work hard and cry often.
My name is Casper and I crossed the Rainbow Bridge at 5:25 pm on October 22, 2009. I was six years old. I'm all good now, so you don't have to worry about me. I just wanted to share my story because I have a lot to say, and who knows, it may help some other cats in the future.
I had a very nice home at one time. My family chose me because I was more handsome than most cats. They gave me some cool name which I've long since forgotten. I wasn't crazy about being neutered, but now, more than ever, I realize why that had to be done. I didn't like the operation where they removed my claws and part of my knuckles either, that really hurt, but I recovered and I was able to spend some nice time with my family.
Then one day, I don't know how it happened, but I didn't have a home anymore. I don't think it was anything I had done. I was good, clean, healthy and handsome and I always showed my family cat-style gratitude. I was worried to say the least. I always knew where to find my food , my toys, my comfy bed, and my family members, and now that was all gone. Who would drive me to the vet? What on earth would I do? I had never caught a mouse in my life.
It was starting to get really cold and I was at my wit's end. The real trouble began when I realized that I couldn't defend myself against the other cats and wildlife who seemed to want to kill me. I would hide in people's bushes, under cars, the occasional garage, anywhere I could. I found a group of cats who I thought maybe I could hang out with, but they had their own clique and chased me away. Then it started snowing and because I was deaf, the only purpose my ears served was to attract frostbite and ear mites. I was starving all the time and I was losing lots of weight. I was glad there were no mirrors because I didn't want to see the image of the cat I was becoming. My natural instinct to groom myself became secondary to my constant struggle to survive and I did it less and less. Nobody was around me anyway, so it didn't seem to matter that my once beautiful white coat was a dingy, grey, stinky, matted mess. I survived the winter, but every day was hell, running – lots of running.
When it started to warm up, I felt a little more optimistic, but with the warm weather came the fleas – those Godforsaken things, they bit me until I bled! That was the most annoying and painful experience, or at least I thought it was, until I broke my leg - then I knew real pain. My leg eventually healed, but then I had to walk on my elbow, I got used to it. Because of my poor to non-existent diet, I got ring worms – that was just plain gross and I never did get rid of those.
Months turned into years and one day when I was too weak to run anymore, I looked up and someone was standing above me saying, "Poor little fella, let's get you some help." He scooped me up and took me for a drive. We arrived at this place where there were more people, many dogs and thousands of cats. What was this place? It was kind of appealing because it seemed like a shelter for me. I kept hearing the word, "stray." If "stray" meant starving and miserable, that was definitely me. They named me Casper. They took me to the stray holding room, which I found out later is where they keep the cats who may be claimed by their owners. Yeah, right, I knew better than to hope for that. The people seemed like they were contemplating what to do with me. When I started eating, they left me alone. God, was I happy to be eating, this was a safe place to be. I was in a cage and had to listen to other cats crying and was very unsure about my fate, but it was ok. People didn't come into this room as often as they seemed to the others. One day a nice girl with eyes almost as pretty as mine, looked at me and read about my sketchy history. I could tell she felt bad for me. I wanted to say, "You don't understand, this is so much better than where I was!" But, she still looked sad. She came back with a friend and they wrapped me in a towel and took me to a different room, a better, more spacious room where there were a few people, food, litter and a cozy bed. One girl started crying because she felt sorry for me. I didn't want that to happen. These people were nice to me, they would pet me even though I smelled really bad, they would scratch me under my chin and they let me sit on their laps, this was awesome! They seemed amazed that I would purr, (duh, I'm a cat, that's what we do when we're content.) I had no muscle tone, so walking around was very difficult, so I basically just stayed put in my bed. Then one day I got up and I tried to use the litter box and I couldn't go to the bathroom properly, it was embarrassing. Everything just started to hurt really bad. Something just wasn't right and I knew it. I couldn't help but cry out. The people urgently wanted to help me. The pain became unbearable and I was starting to lose consciousness and all I could do was pant.
I vaguely remember that they brought me to a different room, a more sterile room, but this room also had nice people. The man was explaining what was about to happen and two girls held me while he tried to give me a shot. The man said that because I was so skinny, he couldn't find a vein and he would have to give me a shot in the stomach and that "it" may take longer. I didn't know what "it" was and I really didn't care, I was just thankful for the blue fluid. I knew they were taking away my suffering. I was so thankful to have friends with me at the end. Eventually my heart stopped beating and it was all finally ok. When I looked down at my body, I could see what the people were seeing, no wonder they were so sad, I was a scary sight. But when I saw that my eyes were still a bright, beautiful green, I knew my soul was going to be just fine. They said I was brave, and that I was. I had to be.
Visit your local Humane Society, volunteer, donate, do whatever you can. These people are great and work hard and cry often.
I had a very nice home at one time. My family chose me because I was more handsome than most cats. They gave me some cool name which I've long since forgotten. I wasn't crazy about being neutered, but now, more than ever, I realize why that had to be done. I didn't like the operation where they removed my claws and part of my knuckles either, that really hurt, but I recovered and I was able to spend some nice time with my family.
Then one day, I don't know how it happened, but I didn't have a home anymore. I don't think it was anything I had done. I was good, clean, healthy and handsome and I always showed my family cat-style gratitude. I was worried to say the least. I always knew where to find my food , my toys, my comfy bed, and my family members, and now that was all gone. Who would drive me to the vet? What on earth would I do? I had never caught a mouse in my life.
It was starting to get really cold and I was at my wit's end. The real trouble began when I realized that I couldn't defend myself against the other cats and wildlife who seemed to want to kill me. I would hide in people's bushes, under cars, the occasional garage, anywhere I could. I found a group of cats who I thought maybe I could hang out with, but they had their own clique and chased me away. Then it started snowing and because I was deaf, the only purpose my ears served was to attract frostbite and ear mites. I was starving all the time and I was losing lots of weight. I was glad there were no mirrors because I didn't want to see the image of the cat I was becoming. My natural instinct to groom myself became secondary to my constant struggle to survive and I did it less and less. Nobody was around me anyway, so it didn't seem to matter that my once beautiful white coat was a dingy, grey, stinky, matted mess. I survived the winter, but every day was hell, running – lots of running.
When it started to warm up, I felt a little more optimistic, but with the warm weather came the fleas – those Godforsaken things, they bit me until I bled! That was the most annoying and painful experience, or at least I thought it was, until I broke my leg - then I knew real pain. My leg eventually healed, but then I had to walk on my elbow, I got used to it. Because of my poor to non-existent diet, I got ring worms – that was just plain gross and I never did get rid of those.
Months turned into years and one day when I was too weak to run anymore, I looked up and someone was standing above me saying, "Poor little fella, let's get you some help." He scooped me up and took me for a drive. We arrived at this place where there were more people, many dogs and thousands of cats. What was this place? It was kind of appealing because it seemed like a shelter for me. I kept hearing the word, "stray." If "stray" meant starving and miserable, that was definitely me. They named me Casper. They took me to the stray holding room, which I found out later is where they keep the cats who may be claimed by their owners. Yeah, right, I knew better than to hope for that. The people seemed like they were contemplating what to do with me. When I started eating, they left me alone. God, was I happy to be eating, this was a safe place to be. I was in a cage and had to listen to other cats crying and was very unsure about my fate, but it was ok. People didn't come into this room as often as they seemed to the others. One day a nice girl with eyes almost as pretty as mine, looked at me and read about my sketchy history. I could tell she felt bad for me. I wanted to say, "You don't understand, this is so much better than where I was!" But, she still looked sad. She came back with a friend and they wrapped me in a towel and took me to a different room, a better, more spacious room where there were a few people, food, litter and a cozy bed. One girl started crying because she felt sorry for me. I didn't want that to happen. These people were nice to me, they would pet me even though I smelled really bad, they would scratch me under my chin and they let me sit on their laps, this was awesome! They seemed amazed that I would purr, (duh, I'm a cat, that's what we do when we're content.) I had no muscle tone, so walking around was very difficult, so I basically just stayed put in my bed. Then one day I got up and I tried to use the litter box and I couldn't go to the bathroom properly, it was embarrassing. Everything just started to hurt really bad. Something just wasn't right and I knew it. I couldn't help but cry out. The people urgently wanted to help me. The pain became unbearable and I was starting to lose consciousness and all I could do was pant.
I vaguely remember that they brought me to a different room, a more sterile room, but this room also had nice people. The man was explaining what was about to happen and two girls held me while he tried to give me a shot. The man said that because I was so skinny, he couldn't find a vein and he would have to give me a shot in the stomach and that "it" may take longer. I didn't know what "it" was and I really didn't care, I was just thankful for the blue fluid. I knew they were taking away my suffering. I was so thankful to have friends with me at the end. Eventually my heart stopped beating and it was all finally ok. When I looked down at my body, I could see what the people were seeing, no wonder they were so sad, I was a scary sight. But when I saw that my eyes were still a bright, beautiful green, I knew my soul was going to be just fine. They said I was brave, and that I was. I had to be.
Visit your local Humane Society, volunteer, donate, do whatever you can. These people are great and work hard and cry often.
