Introducing Scooter

Our last post lamented the loss of our kitten Sophie, a senseless tragedy that left us heartbroken. The cruel irony of the situation was mind boggling. After spending months nursing and doctoring this almost dead little creature back into a healthy, maturing cat, we lost her when we sent her to the vets to be spayed and they promptly killed her. It never occurred to us that people here who claim to be veterinarians lack the basic knowledge necessary to spay a cat. Unfortunately, such was the case.

Since our move to Nicaragua almost two years ago, we have discovered that this little country is equal to, if not better, in both health care and dentistry as anywhere we've ever been, including the United States. Both are certainly more affordable. Incredibly affordable, in fact. However, as far as the veterinary sciences are concerned, they are woefully lacking.

Carol believes part of the problem is that they haven't got adequate facilities and equipment and she's probably right. Personally, I believe that the deficiencies also include an overall lack of concern and compassion by the locals here toward animals of any kind. Believe me, it's tough to be an animal in Nicaragua.

Nobody gets a free ride. Many horses are underfed and wormy, spending their days hauling around little carts with huge loads on cobblestone-like streets. Others haul large buggies full of overweight tourists. And nowhere around this town have we seen even one watering trough. These poor nags apparently spend the whole day under our tropical sun without a water break.

Dogs aren't exempt either. Besides the many street dogs who have to scrounge around town everyday for food of any kind, those that are domesticated aren't necessarily domesticated as pets, rather as living, breathing alarms or body guards. We hear dogs being beaten all the time in order to "teach" them to be protective of house and master. Occasional dogfights can also be heard.

We understand the situation with the street dogs used to be much worse but through the efforts of a wonderful lady named Donna Tabor, great strides have been made to lessen this problem. Donna has been here for many years and is the "go to" person when it comes to any questions regarding animals.

Not many of the locals keep cats as pets. Instead, the town supports a notable population of "roof" cats, so named because they exist on the roofs of the houses of this old town. They pretty much keep the rodent population under control because that's about all they have available to them to eat. And they live on the roofs because the dogs control the streets. Because our place is so open to the outside, we have a couple of "roof" cats, a yellow tom we call Tom and a black-n-white we call Sylvester, who pay us frequent visits in order to access the cat food we leave out for our two Costa Rican rescued felines, Mina and Flaco. They're quite bold about it, too. They come right up the stairs, help themselves to a good meal (Mina and Flaco apparently consider them both to be good friends) and leave by way of an open window. Tom likes to piss on something on his way out, something we wish he would reconsider.

After Sophie died, Carol said, "no more, the heartache is just too much when we lose them," and I pretty much agreed with her. We stuck to our guns for about six weeks when one day we got an email from one of our friends here in Granada, telling us that someone had dropped off a little kitten on her front stoop, she already had too many cats, was afraid that they might harm this little one, were we interested in another adoption?

Carol said, "No, no, no, no," then walked over and picked it up. It fit in her hand. It was a 'she' as best we could tell, only about three weeks old, if that. Whereas Sophie made her name clear to us early on, this one took a little time. We had to bottle feed her a special formula, along with 'meat' baby food, for the first several weeks. She could barely walk when she first arrived but as the days passed and she grew stronger, the day came when she declared her name. "Look at her scoot," one of us said and "Scooter" it was. And is. She's about ten weeks old now, eats regular cat food with the other cats, has adopted Flaco as her big brother (Mina is an old sourpuss, she barely likes us) and is the delight that a good kitty is supposed to be. We don't see her as a replacement for Sophie -- believe me, Scooter is her own little cat -- with a different personality altogether. We'll not forget what a special little cat Sophie was -- and she was -- and we'll learn from our experiences.

When the time comes for Scooter to have non-reproductive surgery, you can bet it will be with the vet, and only the vet, that Donna recommends.

Sophie's Choice

She chose us. With both desperation and hope, she chose us.

It happened one bright morning last year just before Thanksgiving when Carol and I were assisting Carol's Spanish teacher on a project at the train station here in Granada. With dozens of people milling about, she bolted from a hiding place under a table and made a beeline straight to Carol. She must have sensed that Carol is a cat lover. Our estimation was that she was only 4-6 weeks old and barely alive, mostly bones, fur and big ears. She was so hungry that she tried to eat a leaf.

Carol scooped her up into her lap and held her for at least an hour until we were able to leave and go home. For the next two days, she did nothing but eat and sleep. Carol decided to call her Sophie.

She had a terrible red welt around her neck where someone had once either tried to hang her or drag her around on a string. We doctored her, cared for her, let her sleep with us in our bed. For something so small and frail, she purred like a Detroit diesel.

Her arrival was met with a mixture of reactions by our other two cats. Mena, the small calico mother of Flaco, wanted nothing to do with her while Flaco, twice the size of his mother, but with the tolerance and patience of Job, tacitly put up with her kitten exuberance and would occasionally actually play kitty games with her. She quickly became one of us.

We rescued Mena and Flaco almost three years ago while we were still in Costa Rica. They had survived a terrible earthquake and eruption of the Poas volcano, not very far from where we lived. There was actually a third member of the troop, Poco, Flaco's brother, whom we lost shortly thereafter to poison. We felt that Flaco truly accepted Sophie as a substitute for his lost brother. Mena, we have determined, just doesn't like any other cats, period. Not even Flaco, whom she constantly swats in passing.

We watched with amusement as Sophie grew bigger and stronger with each passing day. Fearing no one or nothing, she would torment Mena with her kitteny ways, often resulting in a minor skirmish with Mena beating a hasty retreat down the stairs after which Sophie would turn her attentions toward Flaco, ambushing him at every turn. Being three times her size, Flaco would give her the "you've got to be kidding me" look while he calmly brushed her aside. Later, we noticed that Sophie began to copy Flaco's habits, the way he ate, the way he walked. Flaco became her hero but she continued to sleep with us in our bed, something the other two were reluctant to do. In fact, the bed became her favorite playground. We would be awakened each morning with Sophie attacking our feet through the covers.

Whereas Mena possesses a rather dour personality and Flaco has the aloofness of a typical teenager, Sophie was all about "let's play." She was a happy kitty who loved us with all her heart as we grew to love her. She became a very special part of our lives.

We tended to her needs, got her inoculations when they came due and she prospered. The skinny legs began to fill out, she gained weight, developed the smoothest coat, and finally started to grow into her large ears. Every day was a joyous delight and we learned that whatever trials and tribulations we might encounter were easily offset by her antics. She seemed to know when we wanted to cuddle, when we wanted to play, when it was time to sleep.

She matured. We noticed signs a couple of weeks ago that she might be coming into heat so we made arrangements to have her spayed. A simple procedure done thousands of times every day, all around the globe.

But this time in this place, something went terribly wrong and we lost her. This loss has left us with a near unbearable empty place in our home, our bed and our hearts.

Rest in peace sweet Sophie. Even though it was only for a few short months, we were so incredibly blessed that you chose us.