Once, there was a little kitty. Her name wasn’t Flat Tire yet, but it would be, soon. She may have been abandoned by previous owners who moved; the legends are unclear. Whatever her origins, fate found her living outside at a tender age, and a half-missing back leg (probably deformed since birth) meant she was an easy target for the other feral cats in the area. These were tough times for such a little kitty, but she endured and survived.
One day, she was hiding under a bush when four people walked by and noticed her, despite her best attempts to hide. One lured her out with leftover mackerel from the restaurant they’d just left, and they saw that she was adorable and sweet. When they also saw that she only had three legs, they took her in, gave her a flea bath, and tried to figure out what to do next.
And lo, she was tiny.
Two of the people who found her decided to keep her temporarily until they could get her to a shelter, but, as so often happens, one thing led to another and pretty soon they wouldn’t give her up for the world. With that, they became a little family of three. For the next year, where the people went, the kitty went, and they were happy.
But Flat Tire’s people were worried about her stump–or, as they called it, her Pork Chop–for, although she had no problems with it in the beginning, as time went on she continued to hurt the end of the Pork Chop on all manner of surfaces and objects, and her wails of pain began to fill their home. This, her people thought, would not do. With heavy hearts, they scheduled surgery and hoped for the best.
When Flat Tire came to after her surgery, her Pork Chop was gone and she was half-shaved in a most ignominious manner, and she was sore and tired and angry at the world. Her people (well, one of her people) was worried that she would hate everything forever and spend the rest of her days an unhappy kitty.
Fortunately, though, her people’s fears were unfounded, and pretty soon Flat Tire was back to being the happy little troublemaker they knew and loved, albeit a little clumsier than before.
Now if only she could get those stitches out so the cone could come off…but that’s a tale for another time.
(P.S. I took it upon myself to sum up Flat Tire’s short life story so far because I got a few questions regarding her origins and the reason for her surgery. Also, this blog is now all cats, all the time. DEAL WITH IT.)