Tripod...
or how I got a cat.


We returned, tired and happy, from Turkey on Saturday night. The next day, after more than three weeks away from home, we got back to our apartment in Tel Aviv. And thus, less than 24 hours away from our last adventures, began the next.

Many street cats have been adopted by our building. THere is a woman who lives next door who feeds the cat, so we have a regular dedicated fan base of 5-10 cats who stay close by.

When Ori came home from work on Sunday, we spotted one of our own, a young black male, with a dreadfully battered and broken front leg. It touched me. Deep. And Ori spent the next hour or two on the phone trying to find someone to take care of the cat. No emergency pet services here. No free pickups. Until finally, we met found angel.

A vet, working midnight hours north of Tel Aviv - willing to do the surgery for 1/3 to 1/4 of the price. (all told, for less than 90 dollars.) I called my friends with a cat, and picked up their cage the next day.

However.... on Monday the cat was no where to be found. I thought about fate, about how some cats run off to die, or about the remote possibility that someone else had taken him in. I thought about how we had no plan as to what we would do for the cast post-op. And I figured maybe it was for the best.

Tuesday after school, still no cat. I ran errands, did laundry and finally at 9:30 PM, went out with Ori to go for a run.

There, at the entrance to our building, was our old friend, seeming to happy and cuddly to notice or accept the dangling limb that was dragging him little by little out of this world. I broke into tears and Ori went to call the doctor.

Someone had bandaged his foot with an ace, but this was no soccer field sprain. The cat had no feeling in the paw. The lower leg was flipped backwards so the pads of his feet faced up. Still, he hopped merrily (and speedily around) and the other cats accepted him as much as any of their playmates. He purred and cuddled closer to me, tenderly putting one paw at a time in my lap. This was hardly typical street cat behavior and I had to keep reminding myself not to pick him up.

After 15 minutes, Ori came down with a cage and the miraculous cat-ophile who lives next door. Alas, the cage was too small. We lured him inside easily with food, but he could not fit. And he quickly realized we were trying to trap him. There was no chance of getting him near the cage again. He ran out into the street and hid cowering beneath cars. (isn't that how all this started, i thought?!)

It took over an hour to catch the cat. In the end, we lured him tuna fish and Ori tossed him into our car. HE freaked out like racquetball gone wild for several minutes, before slithering beneath my seat - where he stayed for the next hour.

Still dressed to run, Ori and I drove back north, past his office and to the residential neighborhood where the vet has his office. Ori went inside, and returned a few minutes later to the car with the doc. What a guy! THe doc was wearing jeans and a dusty t-shirt. He finished up a cigarette, and went after the cat with are and determination, brandishing a syringe with an air of unbelievable 'chill.' As if crawling into stranger's cars at 11:30 at night in order to inject a street cat with anesthisia was a routine activity.
Which I guess, for this man, it is.

The cat spasmed a bit and then relaxed in Ori's arms. He shivered and shuddered for about half an hour and then we left him. It was past 11 now so we went to get a sandwich. An hour later, the surgery was complete.

As we walked back to the vets, right on his doorstep, Ori found a 100 shekel bill, neatly folded. We gave it immediately to the vet as an inadequate tip thankful and cognizant of the role of fate in this whole debacle.

We picked up the cat, now called Tripod, and carried him into the car. He shook a bit but was virtually immobile. He had no bandages. Where his leg had been was a fold of skin sealed with a row of neat, black stitches. He was barely bleeding.

We picked up cat litter and food in a 24 hour market and set out to cat-proof our him. Dressers were cleared. Doors were closed, porch screens sealed shut, shutter blinds slanted upwards at steep angles. Our still unpacked bags were pushed into another room and the three of us set up camp for a long night in the guest bedroom.

Ori and I took turns sleeping. The "awake" one of us would hold and pet our little friend, reassuring him and helping hi when he wanted to try and walk. Our big fear was that he would hurt his head or teeth. Each time he tried to break out into a sprint, or even a footstep, his head would fall toward the floor, gravity being still far more powerful than Mr. T's anesthetized, dizzy little mug.

BY morning, and with the help of a miracle, he was holding his head okay. Our neighbor watched over him in the morning and I left hebrew early to take over the watch.

He is scared and missed the great outdoors. But he is eating and still very loving and affectionate. Stay tuned....