"MacTavish"
Chris Morgan first e-mailed me with a story about MacTavish coming to the rescue of her little boy, who had gotten lost in the woods. I asked her to guest-write a feature article, telling us more about this remarkable cat, and was delighted when she accepted. Here then, is Chris' tribute to MacTavish
Like most of the cats in my life, MacTavish just kind of happened. I had
married nine months previously and was about four months pregnant, living
in a new apartment and a bit bored. When two little boys wanted to show me their
family of cats, I had nothing better to do. But what I discovered is the
original "fraidy cat." One of about 4 kittens, two months old, MacTavish
was a deep orange and white tabby trying desperately to hide, especially
from the two little boys who obviously had no concept of "gentle."
Something about his fear sparked a bond, perhaps a maternal response. He
was the scrawny one, so pathetic in his cringing. So home we went.
For three days after I put the kitten down in his new home, I only caught
glimpses of him skulking under assorted shelter. I left him alone. On the
third day, he crept near, I petted him and talked quietly to him. Then he
climbed in my lap and love was born. MacTavish never outgrew his
scrawniness and he remained fairly homely in shape. But his color was
gorgeous. And his devotion endless. He loved sleeping on my tummy shelf
created by the growing pregnancy. And when he'd slept enough, well, I must
have too! He'd gently bat my nose until I awoke. He continued using his
paw that way to get my attention all of his life.
When MacTavish was about six months old and I was about 8 months pregnant,
some human monster struck. I called to him out the back door repeatedly
for about two hours. He finally dragged himself to the back door, fighting
pain, fear and shock, with thickened blood all over his face. I raced off
to the emergency vet, the only one open on that night. The vet was new to
me. I think she decided my husband and I must have done the damage to
MacTavish and she wasn't going to waste her time and skills fixing a cat
whose owner smashed him up. He had a crushed jaw, the roof of his mouth
was split and one eye was in danger. But all she seemed concerned about
was that he hadn't yet had shots. She wouldn't touch the
injuries unless I first authorized shots, which I of course did. She kept
him overnight. When I called in the morning, she said come get him. I was
quite surprised, but headed over after work. The blood and gunk was now
dried on him, the jaw was still crushed and untreated. But he had his
shots. She said he needed time to recover before surgery. Confused but
with no confidence in this vet, I took him home. He couldn't even drink
water, let alone eat.
I called another vet and explained. That vet said
he couldn't comment on another vet's treatment plans, but said his office
did not leave a crushed jaw without treatment. I brought him in in the
evening and the vet operated that night.
That veterinarian, of Columbia, MD, was an angel. My husband and I had no
money, we were both low grade enlisted folk with the US military, expecting
a baby in one month and leaving the service, no jobs lined up and moving in
with mom. The vet knew and took care of the cat anyway. He told me the
injuries appeared deliberately inflicted, by something like a baseball bat
or a heavy boot.
However the damage happened, the poor cat was a
mess. After several days at the veterinarian's office, MacTavish came home.
He was still unable to eat or drink. I used a syringe without the needle
to drizzle water down his throat. I fed him baby food meat watered down to
near water consistency and drizzled that down his throat also. That bond forged on the third day of our companionship only
solidified thru this horrible time in MacTavish's life. Eventually the jaw
healed and MacTavish could finally start eating on his own.
But the roof of his mouth did not heal. As new parents, we
couldn't allow the infection from MacTavish's sinus cavity to
threaten the health of the baby. As guardian of MacTavish's health, we
couldn't allow the infections to continue. We'd left the military and moved
to a new state. I was afraid euthanasia was
going to be the final result. We tried one last veterinarian, who said his
first recommendation was take him to the high tech vet we'd already met
with. We told him financially, we couldn't do it. This new vet said,
well, there's a surgery technique he'd been wanting to try, one of his own
devising. He said the surgery would be completely experimental, having
never been done on an animal before, it would cost $75.00 and he couldn't
guarantee the results. But he felt confident. We wanted MacTavish to have
a chance, we could scrape together the money, so we said go ahead. It
worked!! MacTavish would live, infection free, for another 16 years.
With all the pain I put him through during his long convalescences, I'd
have expected the cat to learn to fear me. He never really warmed up to
other people, especially kids. But he always seemed to trust me, to know
that I was trying to help him when I had to do something unpleasant to him.
He never fought the cleanings, no matter how uncomfortable they made him.
He just waited patiently, looking at me with love, knowing I was taking
care of him. Perhaps that's why, three years after the end of his ordeal,
he went into the woods after my little boy, even though the cat didn't
particularly care for children. He seemed to recognize that my kids were
important to me, so he put up with their unwanted attentions, gently
correcting them with his paws, not his claws, teaching them very
effectively, but without pain, how not to treat a cat.
MacTavish was never
a pretty cat, nor would he win any personality contests, but he's always
going to be a special cat to me. I truly hope there really is a rainbow
bridge so someday I will be reunited with him.
Chris Morgan
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