Tippy Turns Five

Day 289: Somebody's a Birthday Boy! At six months old, Tip had just been brought in from his temporary foster family to be put up for adoption, and I was looking specifically for a black kitty. I didn't know it at the time, but black and "tuxedo" cats (black and white) are the least likely to be adopted from shelters. Why? Some say it's the superstition, but how did that superstition evolve? Well, if you've ever fallen over a black cat in the dark of night, you might be inclined to say they were unlucky. Even if you haven't tripped on a cat, you may have stepped on a midnight-colored tail and seen a sudden flash of white just before the teeth were embedded in your leg. Yeah, I can see why people think black cats are unlucky.

But not Tippy. Tippy was one of the luckiest finds of my life. I'd just lost a little black genius of a kitten during routine surgery, and friends who had seen the zest come back into my life with Harry Dickens' presence were pushing me hard to take on another kitty. A search of local shelters and pet stores yielded nothing, and I wound up travelling several hours north only to discover that the last kitten at one shelter had been taken just before I arrived. A friend who had accompanied me pulled out his phone and started calling around. He found one shelter with mostly adult cats and a few juveniles, but to my dismay, no little baby kitties. However, when we arrived, they showed me a pair of six-month old "tuxedo" brothers. I picked out the one with the least white and spent an hour getting to know him before deciding to take him home.

A few days later when I took him in for his first physical, the veterinarian told me he had a heart murmur. With my emotions raw from the loss of little Harry, I was rocked hard by the news. The shelter footed the bill for a full cardiological exam, and Tip was given a better prognosis than I had feared. His current doctor monitors his condition carefully and so far has not been concerned. "He's just noisy," she said, but she wants me to watch his weight and be sure he gets good exercise.

Exercise? He's a mile-a-minute fellow! He runs and leaps, and keeps up a sweet, soft commentary as he passes things by. "Mirrl?" he asks his toys. "Mirrl-mirrl!" he tells me as he races around my legs to encourage me to chase him. He plays ever so gently when I tickle him; never a bite, never a scratch, and he's always ready with a nose-rub or a paw on my cheek. For all the love he gives me, my Boy was a very lucky find indeed!