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The Rescuers


My rescuers were well-meaning, I am sure, but they did not understand my world, nor did they know me. I was happily feral before they came along, poking and prodding, and strapping me with a name that did not suit me. Crystal. I am a long lean dark grey and black tabby with piercing green eyes and a sleek coat. Crystal is a name more fitting for a fluffy white creature with pale blue eyes. It might also befit one of those aloof blue-eyed Siamese girls, but it was not right for me. Somehow it confused me, and I began to question my identity. That created a lack of confidence not very becoming a cat!

Further adding to my confusion was the unaccustomed indoor confinement. I was used to stretching my physical limits by racing through alleyways and open fields, scaling tall trees, and leaping from ditch bank to ditch bank or right through a broken window. I had been placed with a foster human until such time as a more permanent owner (I can’t be owned) might come along. The foster human’s space had walls and a roof with no open windows through which I could escape. The food was dry and lacked variety. The water proved stale and uninteresting. I was confined to some kind of cage at night and at times when the foster human was away.

There were other rescued creatures residing there. Most were sullen and uninterested in companionship. They, too, had inappropriate names such as Flower and Speckles. I wondered how long they had been waiting for their forever owners. Although surrounded by safety, I found myself retreating into a lonely state lacking adventure and friendship. Grooming was the one thing over which I had control. I am proud to say I did not let myself go!

The foster human did not have a lot of visitors except for one noisy human that arrived often gushing over us and calling me “Miss Crystal.” At least I wasn’t Miss Flower or Mr. Speckles! These visits seldom occurred without a change of residents. The gushing human would gather up one or two of the smaller residents, sometimes leaving a recently “rescued” critter in its place. I began to look forward to the Gusher’s visits, not because I enjoyed them, but I hoped I would be scooped up for an adventure of my own - or perhaps an opportunity to escape.



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