He came to us already named, and I doubt is was for the MLB team, but since Opening Days are taking place nationwide, thought his story timely.
He will also answer to 'Fluffy.'
He will also answer to 'Fluffy.'
(For the record, this NFL Browns fanatic grew up attending Reds' games and even skinny-dipped in Marge Schott's pool, unbeknownst to her, of course!)
 |
| Inside cats don't like that scruffy one outside |
We didn't think he'd live through the summer, which is why we agreed to take him in- give him a nice end to his otherwise miserable life.
But that was almost 5 years ago.
Poor Dodger was the victim of stupid kids out on their own for the first time, having not a clue nor care about anything other than their immediate gratification.
We'd moved down from Seattle into a wee house, sight unseen, in West Eugene before transitioning into something more permanent outside of town.
We called it the Retirement Community, but that was a misnomer.
But that was almost 5 years ago.
Poor Dodger was the victim of stupid kids out on their own for the first time, having not a clue nor care about anything other than their immediate gratification.
We'd moved down from Seattle into a wee house, sight unseen, in West Eugene before transitioning into something more permanent outside of town.
We called it the Retirement Community, but that was a misnomer.
It wasn't a bunch of old folks living in those cul d'sacs, rather youngish people like ourselves needing affordable, temporary accommodations.
 |
| "So why are we feeding it?" |
The buildings of ticky tacky all looked the same and were well kept in an otherwise sketchy and trashy hood that we now know to be the undesirable part of town.
But for our purposes, it was just fine.
There was an attached garage in which to store our worldly possessions, so no need to rent a unit.
We could and did make all arrangements and payments through computer magic.
Plenty of parking, a 'lake' and other landscaping taken care of by the property managers, and close to main arterials and shopping- just what newcomers to the area required.
  |
| Hates the leash, of course |
Our immediate neighbors were a rather dull fella just turned 21, his almost as bland BFF and his quiet girlfriend. All very young and not as hip as you'd expect.
They were local, but ready to cast off. There might have been some intermittent community college, but for the most part, they held uninteresting, blue collar jobs.
They were decent enough neighbors, good actually in that when I was their age, all hell was breaking loose in my living arrangements, not the least of which was bad, loud music at inconsiderate hours.
Needless to say, we had nothing in common with them, and so kept our exchanges to fairly brief and courteous neighborly small talk.
In due course, as is with young love, the GF found it elsewhere and moved out, leaving the 2 bachelors to themselves.
Strangely, we never saw them much as they were either working, driving their souped-up Subys around forest roads or drinking crap beer with HS friends who'd not moved too far from home either.
Shortly after they'd begun playing house and not too long before we moved in, GF had gifted her beau with an adorable puffy, grey kitten someone was hawking.
Sadly, this seems to be de rigueur around here. There is no responsible pet guardianship, no spay/neuter so cats (and pit bull mixes -hello Zabby-) are everywhere. And do.not. get me started on the (lack of) animal welfare services up in this backwater piece.
When GF left she did not take the now grown and admittedly less darling cat and I believe her jilted lover took out his disdain over the whole situation on the scruffy thing.
Dodger was literally kicked outside, badmouthed, barely fed and pretty much ignored.
He became rather a bad ass about our tiny apartment houses, a scrappy, little guy who didn't take guff.
Except that I think that he did, because at one point he started to look poorly.
GF returned to take him to the vet wherein he was diagnosed with the dreaded FIV+.
Then she was gone again, leaving him to his plight.
Most likely, he had an altercation with another tom around town who got a good bite into him, because other than the birth canal, that's the way it's transmitted- a deep puncture wound.
We started to feed and water him, naturally. And he really took to CAM, following him to the mailbox and back and checking in on various projects and activities.
He'd hang out on the back deck tormenting our inside cats with his freedom, or on the front patio, again looking in through the windows.
Shortly afterwards, the boys were moving away and when we inquired as to Dodger's fate, were told maybe he'd go to the farm.
Euphemism?
I don't think they were that smart. So maybe an actual farm? In any case, we didn't trust them to do the right thing by Dodger, so we offered to take him off their hands.
No good deed...
We craigslisted a dog Igloo for him to shelter in on the porch, but he wasn't the least bit interested in it.
(Side note: NO one cares for this, not Ed, the hens or even the dog.Why?)
He really wanted to come inside and can you blame him?
But that wasn't an option, so he became, officially, The Garage Cat, but not before there was a situation with the management.
A company was contracted out of Beaverton (near Portland about 2 hrs. north) to take care of everything in the RC, from rent to repairs to lawn care.
We'd admitted to only 2 cats on our paperwork and with good reason- they were a 500$ deposit each!
And we figured with the virtual landlords being so far away, it wouldn't be a problem.
It wasn't, until Dodger.
Seems we hadn't been the only ones feeding him; he had made a number of friends in the neighborhood including one woman who *did* allow him into her place.
As with so many of the transient renters, she moved out, but not before she'd managed to trap Dodge first. (Unwittingly, I'm sure.)
By now we'd officially adopted him and had collared him with a tag including our name, # and his FIV+ status.
When the painters came in and saw mangy cat who'd made himself warm and comfy for however long, we got a call.
Always the tenuous relationship we'd had with our property manager, there was great anxiety as to how to deal with this.
Truth won out and I think because she'd always been partial to CAM, his charm swayed her as did appealing to her decency, which it seems she did have some of after all.
But the caveat was Dodger must stay with us and not allowed to wander.
Hence, the garage.
Thankfully he appreciated the man cave we created for him inside and did not feel the urge to bolt.
The weather had turned wicked by now which also probably encouraged him to stay.
Clearly, he had a fair amount of Maine Coon in his bloodline, as those personality traits were apparent:
sociable, approachable, amusing, trusting, chillaxed, endearing and most affectionate.
He did (and does) very much like to just be in our company- he is fiercely loyal.
Every night we'd go out to fill him full of food, fresh water and spend time brushing, petting and visiting him. He was glad for the companionship but was definitely bonded with CAM more so than me.
His dislike for me grew when I insisted he walk around the grounds using a leash and harness: he no longer had the freedom to roam as before and once did make a break for the border.
But mostly he seemed grateful for the refuge and was well behaved.
Meanwhile, we were fervently house hunting and taking his needs into consideration.
An out building? Another garage? A shed? What were we to do with Dodger? He wasn't showing any signs of dying, quite the opposite, actually.
A change of plans was in order.
Lots of research later, we determined integrating him into the household was doable and safe for the others.
Once we had purchased, a very strategic system was devised to introduce the kitty family to the new home and Dodger; there were diagrams and notes! It worked!
Make no mistake, our cat house isn't all a furry, accepting love fest, there are skirmishes. But everyone appears to have found their place and some favor others, but full-on hatefulness, fortunately, does not exist.
Dodger continues to be a stinker, he always did have a 'tude and can be a dick, both to us and his feline siblings.
But he can also be funny and a sweetie; he loves his face and head rubbed. In fact, as he mellows with age, he's proving to be much more tenderhearted.
He has a penchant for getting intimate with the dog's blankets and stuffed toys and pillows.
And is quite vocal in his opposition to CAM's trumpet practicing.
He also tends to smell of ass, and I fear this is the genesis of the oral condition common to FIV+s.
One thing he never cottoned to was being brushed, which is a shame since he's got the kind of fur that necessitates it.
Biting, clawing and scratching at us while we attempt to deal with his knots is effective in keeping us from doing it, so as a result, he is a gnarly mess.
Or rather, was.
After watching him spend the better part of a year creating the most horrific dreadlocks, he went under the gas at the DVM and got completely shaved.
Now he struts around like he is the King of Cool, and is more pleasant and friendly than before (those mats must have hurt).
Don't tell him, but he looks silly.
Silly or not, it would seem this FIV+ cat's not going anywhere anytime soon.
And that's just fine by us.
**PSA** FIV+ cats can live decent lives with little to no danger to those un-infected. Consider one (or 2) the next time you adopt; too much sensational disinformation surrounds this topic and sadly, it's the cats who suffer our ignorance.
Needless to say, we had nothing in common with them, and so kept our exchanges to fairly brief and courteous neighborly small talk.
In due course, as is with young love, the GF found it elsewhere and moved out, leaving the 2 bachelors to themselves.
Strangely, we never saw them much as they were either working, driving their souped-up Subys around forest roads or drinking crap beer with HS friends who'd not moved too far from home either.
Shortly after they'd begun playing house and not too long before we moved in, GF had gifted her beau with an adorable puffy, grey kitten someone was hawking.
Sadly, this seems to be de rigueur around here. There is no responsible pet guardianship, no spay/neuter so cats (and pit bull mixes -hello Zabby-) are everywhere. And do.not. get me started on the (lack of) animal welfare services up in this backwater piece.
When GF left she did not take the now grown and admittedly less darling cat and I believe her jilted lover took out his disdain over the whole situation on the scruffy thing.
Dodger was literally kicked outside, badmouthed, barely fed and pretty much ignored.
 |
| Garage Cat |
 |
| Surveying his domain |
Except that I think that he did, because at one point he started to look poorly.
GF returned to take him to the vet wherein he was diagnosed with the dreaded FIV+.
Then she was gone again, leaving him to his plight.
Most likely, he had an altercation with another tom around town who got a good bite into him, because other than the birth canal, that's the way it's transmitted- a deep puncture wound.
We started to feed and water him, naturally. And he really took to CAM, following him to the mailbox and back and checking in on various projects and activities.
He'd hang out on the back deck tormenting our inside cats with his freedom, or on the front patio, again looking in through the windows.
Shortly afterwards, the boys were moving away and when we inquired as to Dodger's fate, were told maybe he'd go to the farm.
Euphemism?
I don't think they were that smart. So maybe an actual farm? In any case, we didn't trust them to do the right thing by Dodger, so we offered to take him off their hands.
No good deed...
We craigslisted a dog Igloo for him to shelter in on the porch, but he wasn't the least bit interested in it.
(Side note: NO one cares for this, not Ed, the hens or even the dog.Why?)
  |
| We felt badly about keeping him locked up in the garage, so took him on 'field trips' to spy on the new house; he traveled well |
 |
| Moving Day |
But that wasn't an option, so he became, officially, The Garage Cat, but not before there was a situation with the management.
A company was contracted out of Beaverton (near Portland about 2 hrs. north) to take care of everything in the RC, from rent to repairs to lawn care.
And we figured with the virtual landlords being so far away, it wouldn't be a problem.
It wasn't, until Dodger.
Seems we hadn't been the only ones feeding him; he had made a number of friends in the neighborhood including one woman who *did* allow him into her place.
As with so many of the transient renters, she moved out, but not before she'd managed to trap Dodge first. (Unwittingly, I'm sure.)
By now we'd officially adopted him and had collared him with a tag including our name, # and his FIV+ status.
When the painters came in and saw mangy cat who'd made himself warm and comfy for however long, we got a call.Always the tenuous relationship we'd had with our property manager, there was great anxiety as to how to deal with this.
Truth won out and I think because she'd always been partial to CAM, his charm swayed her as did appealing to her decency, which it seems she did have some of after all.
But the caveat was Dodger must stay with us and not allowed to wander.
Hence, the garage.
Thankfully he appreciated the man cave we created for him inside and did not feel the urge to bolt.
The weather had turned wicked by now which also probably encouraged him to stay.
Clearly, he had a fair amount of Maine Coon in his bloodline, as those personality traits were apparent:
sociable, approachable, amusing, trusting, chillaxed, endearing and most affectionate.
He did (and does) very much like to just be in our company- he is fiercely loyal.
 |
| Staking his claim |
His dislike for me grew when I insisted he walk around the grounds using a leash and harness: he no longer had the freedom to roam as before and once did make a break for the border.
But mostly he seemed grateful for the refuge and was well behaved.
Meanwhile, we were fervently house hunting and taking his needs into consideration.
An out building? Another garage? A shed? What were we to do with Dodger? He wasn't showing any signs of dying, quite the opposite, actually.
A change of plans was in order.
Lots of research later, we determined integrating him into the household was doable and safe for the others.
 |
| Sunny Tummy |
Once we had purchased, a very strategic system was devised to introduce the kitty family to the new home and Dodger; there were diagrams and notes! It worked!Make no mistake, our cat house isn't all a furry, accepting love fest, there are skirmishes. But everyone appears to have found their place and some favor others, but full-on hatefulness, fortunately, does not exist.
Dodger continues to be a stinker, he always did have a 'tude and can be a dick, both to us and his feline siblings.
But he can also be funny and a sweetie; he loves his face and head rubbed. In fact, as he mellows with age, he's proving to be much more tenderhearted.
He has a penchant for getting intimate with the dog's blankets and stuffed toys and pillows.
And is quite vocal in his opposition to CAM's trumpet practicing.
 |
| Not sure why he was so mad at me for painting clouds on the ceiling |
One thing he never cottoned to was being brushed, which is a shame since he's got the kind of fur that necessitates it.
Biting, clawing and scratching at us while we attempt to deal with his knots is effective in keeping us from doing it, so as a result, he is a gnarly mess.
Or rather, was.
After watching him spend the better part of a year creating the most horrific dreadlocks, he went under the gas at the DVM and got completely shaved.
  |
| Commence the humping |
Don't tell him, but he looks silly.
Silly or not, it would seem this FIV+ cat's not going anywhere anytime soon.
And that's just fine by us.
**PSA** FIV+ cats can live decent lives with little to no danger to those un-infected. Consider one (or 2) the next time you adopt; too much sensational disinformation surrounds this topic and sadly, it's the cats who suffer our ignorance.
 |
| FIV+ kitties Eddie & Floof inside forever now |
 |
| Previous attempt at getting his pantaloons cleaned up proved unsuccessful thanks to an incompetent groomer |
Before and After
 |
| Dammit, Dodger! Get off the table! |
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