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| Wyatt Derp |
We live a good 25+ miles outside of the city in a very sparsely populated area. Although there are some 50 or so 5 acre plus lots in our subdivision, few have been built upon. Of those that do have houses, many are weekend places for folks from bigger cities like San Antonio, San Angelo, or the Midland/Odessa area that come to enjoy the lake and the peace and quiet that abounds here.
Being that far removed and secluded, townsfolk sometimes come here to dump animals, especially cats.
About 2 years ago, a pair showed up that were unlike the feral cats, in that they were both wearing collars. One sported a leather collar with a rabies tag and the other had a flea collar. Both were younger cats and, while not affectionate, were friendly enough that I could pet them, especially when food was involved.
After about a week or so it became apparent that they weren't going back to wherever they came from, at least on their own accord, so at feeding time I took the collars off of them. The one wearing the flea collar had outgrown it to where it was getting too tight. Although she wasn't happy about the removal process, she seemed to be happy once it was gone.
The leather collar on the other cat had the aforementioned rabies tag still attached, so I called the Vet's office. I gave the Vet the number from the tag and told them I had the cat if the owner wanted her back. It wasn't 5 minutes until my phone rang. Turns out the cat came from town, well over 30 miles away, and they had given it up for dead. The little girl who's pet it was, was very happy to get it back. My guess is that it was given a ride by a neighbor. I'd have loved to see the look on that neighbor's face when the cat reappeared!
The other cat still lives here. We've named her Mom because of her prodigious ability to breed. She wants no part of the easy life of a house cat, preferring to live outside and doing whatever outside cats do. We feed her and her offspring and in return they keep our house and land free of scorpions, tarantulas, and wolf spiders. They also keep the rattlesnakes at bay. She teaches her kids well how to survive in the wild. All but one, that is.
Early this year she brought one of her kittens to the back door. It was a mess. One eye was runny with tears and it was skinny and listless. I scooped him up and brought him inside. I filled a small dish with half and half and put him in front of it. He drank every last drop.
There was no doubt that this little guy was not going to survive if put back outside, so I filled the sink with warm water, bathed him and wrapped him in a towel. He slept on my chest in the recliner for the rest of the evening, and that night he cuddled up to me under the covers in bed.
The wife said he needed a name and dismissed several that I suggested, like Jake (too much like a dog's name), Amos (reminded her of a lazy guy at her work), Lefty (in deference to the runny eye, but we shouldn't make fun of the less fortunate), and Floyd (too goofy and we had already nicknamed one of the deer we feed Floyd). So finally I suggested Wyatt.
Wyatt settled in and as the days passed we noticed that he was, well, different. Kittens are uncoordinated but he was more clumsy than normal. After playing with him with a laser pointer we discovered that he was defiantly blind in that left eye. We also believe that he has limited vision in the right as well. This really affects his depth perception in that he has a hard time judging how to jump up onto things. He simply can't do it very well, preferring to climb on stuff instead of jumping up like a normal cat. When he tries to jump down from something, he invariably falls. Cats don't always land on their feet, especially when they're visually impaired.
He also sees spots, I think. He chases them around, running into things. He's all legs going every which way when he runs, and he has no brakes. When he tries to pounce on something, he extends his front paws, but forgets to stop running with his back legs, plowing ahead, come what may. He's a constant source of amusement. When we play with the laser, he'll chase it around in a circle (as long as it's to the right, he can't see it if it's to the left) and after 2 or 3 revolutions, I'll stop but he keeps on going, just like the Energizer Bunny, until he gets dizzy and has to lie down and get his bearings.
So now he has a last name too, Derp. That's right, Wyatt Derp. It's even on his vet records. I told the receptionist that we named him that because it sounded better than Thud.
