When Daryl joined us just over two years ago, he weighed 7.7 pounds, had just been diagnosed as FIV positive and had some of his collar and belly fur trimmed off because he was so matted from spending the first 10 months of his life outdoors. At his checkup last week, he was pronounced in perfect health and weighed 15.3 pounds.
If you are considering adopting an FIV-positive cat, feel free to contact me.
Periodically I’ll post a photo of one or more of the household animals for no particular reason. This is one of my favorites, taken June 29.
Daryl and Abbey were born just two weeks apart, on April 3 and April 17, 2014.
Their arrivals here were quite different. After we lost our Brittany and cat, both 11, our deeply mellow black Lab had gone from being the baby of the animals to the only. This would not do.
My husband thought he might like another Lab, yellow this time, or perhaps a golden retriever. We found a happy bouncy girl who was half of each and brought her home at age 10 weeks. She quickly established her digging fervor and her goatlike tendency to perch atop furniture, even after she reached her adult weight of 50 pounds. And after initial suspicion, dear Maggie mothered the newcomer, wrestled with her, set her straight when need arose.
I loved our two dogs, but I missed cat energy. In poking about area rescue websites, I saw a lovely longhaired female but also a lot of photos and desperate pleas about a beautiful black male. He had spent the first 10 months of his life outdoors while his littermates were inside. A woman provided food but not much shelter from mid-Michigan winter, and in February the devoted Chris Morris persuaded her to hand him over.
His life was much improved but took an unexpected turn when a trip to the vet revealed he was FIV+, the first time Chris had ever had a cat test positive. Potential adopters were skittering away. I asked some questions, did some research, and decided he’d be a fine addition, so he joined us a few weeks short of his 1st birthday.
The acclimation period was long. Sometimes noisy. Our older dog had lived with a cat before and after a few deep sniffs took the attitude of, “Oh. One of those. Evs.” The dumb blonde reacted like, “IS THAT A GIANT SQUIRREL? IN THE HOUSE?” And the cat, who had to adapt to not only two huge roommates but this whole “inside with run of the entire house” thing, did a lot of hiding behind furniture and leaping up to the high spots we cleared for him.
All this to say, for them to nestle together watching birds fly in and out of the birdbath was a sweet sight indeed.
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