I first saw her after I got back home from the Hurricane Floyd evacuation in September 1999—a little orange and white-splotched cat, skulking around the next building in our condo complex. I asked a neighbor if someone had lost their cat. She said that the family had moved out a couple of weeks before and left their cat behind. (How could they? She was declawed!)
The kitty with the big orange eyes would let you come up and pet her soft fur, but would soon stop you with a loud meow and a rather hard bite. Heaven forbid you should touch her tail. But she loved it when you stroked her head. Some neighbors were leaving food out for her, and would occasionally let her in, but couldn't keep her because they had birds. Another kind lady tried to give her shelter, but didn't like being bitten. So the orange kitty just stayed near her old home, waiting for her family to come back.
After about a month, I couldn't take it any more and took her home. She was amazingly healthy after being on her own, although she was too thin. She sure made up for it by eating like a horse. I decided to call her Dapple because she looked like dappled sunshine in her mackerel tabby coat. My vet thought she was, at most, a year old. We soon found out that she wasn't spayed when she started acting like she was going into heat (they left their declawed, unspayed cat to fend for herself...how could they!?). The vet and I took care of that, and soon she was trying to run the house.
My top cat, an 8-year-old neutered male, objected. But Dapple kept pushing him and there would be warning yowls and "boxing matches" every day. She never caught on that he had claws and she didn't, even though she wore bloody scratches on her nose the whole time she was with us. Spunky little thing. And she would pester my other cat, a 3-year-old female...or was it playing? My cat didn't think so. Dapple liked to be near me, and would sometimes lie next to me, so I knew that she had the potential to be a special cat for someone. I think someone played with her too roughly, and pulled her tail and that's why she started biting when they took away her claws. I tried to teach her that I would stop when her body language said "stop", and soon she was nipping more than clamping down on my hand.
I was determined to find her a home. I asked everyone I knew, and the Space Cats Club put her on their web page. Being declawed was an advantage—quite a few people were interested in Dapple, but stopped short when they were told about her tendency to bite. After a few months, people said, "Come on, admit it. You have three cats now. She's found a home with you." Of course she could always stay with me, but the situation wasn't ideal with my other cats. Then one day I got "the call", and Dapple went home with a lady who had recently moved to the area, and who had enough experience with animals that Dapple's biting didn't faze her. No children at home, no other pets. Perfect.
I talked to Dapple's new "mommy" a few days later. Dapple hid under the bed for the first few hours, but came out when the lady was getting ready for bed. They went on a tour of the apartment, and then Dapple spent her first night curled up next to her new owner. The lady said she hadn't slept that well in months. The next day Dapple started making the place her own. Soon she was gazing at birds from her screened-in porch, playing with lots of new cat toys, attacking newspapers and rubbing on everything in sight. She had found her "forever home", and an owner who was quickly falling in love with her.
I'm so glad I took in that little orange-and-white cat with the big orange eyes and gave her a foster home for 7 months. Someone had once sponsored a cat for 8 months in an animal shelter until I came along, and that cat became my best friend. I like to think that I rescued someone else's best friend and kept her safe until they "found" her...