Frank’s Club: The Colony Part Three

Greetings on a rainy, for me, and dreary Caturday!

What a winter, or in my case on Lawn Guyland, a NON winter.

When California gets more snow than the east coast, you know there’s something wrong.

Still think climate change is a hoax?

Wait, this isn’t a political blog, it’s cat (and sometimes tech) blog.

That being said, on with the show!

Here’s the concluding chapter of how Frank’s Club, AKA The Colony, came to be.

This third and final chapter focuses primarily on Minnie, Frank’s daughter, and how she came to live with me and……HER.

When I kicked El Cheato out nearly 14 months ago, it was agreed that Minnie would go to live with her.

I miss that amazing little tuxedo cat beyond words, but I have to believe that she is well cared for.

Originally blogger blogged in late January of 2018, with the obvious minor edits:

Thursday, January 11th, 2018.

Not your average run of the mill Thursday. Well, not for me, anyway.

Today was, I hoped, Minnie’s day to come home!

I took the day off and nervously began the day. Always being one to “overthink” most things, I spent most of breakfast planning out exactly how I was going to get Minnie into the carrier in the first place.

I was obsessed with the planning of Minnie’s “capture” for the simple reason that I have NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. Capturing a stray cat was one part of cat ownership I was completely new at. So, to my thinking, it was best to over-plan than to under-plan.

Needless to say, my plan was carried out to the letter and perfectly! Minnie was waiting at the door; I gently grabbed her and she went right into the carrier without freaking out or screaming her head off.

Her protector, Smudge, and her siblings Wally and Speck were there, and gave us a “what the fuck are you doing to her?” look. Or were they just meowing GOOD LUCK to Minnie?

Either way, phase one is complete. Minnie was officially safe and, on her way, to becoming a house cat!

One hour and change later, I arrived with a surprisingly calm Minnie at my new vet, Long Island Spay and Neuter in Medford, NY. The vet’s office was adorable. Clean, inviting, with friendly staff. Ahead of me were two people with cats of their own waiting to be spayed. One, a couple who were taking care of a stray that came and went from their home, the other, an employee at a local airport that allowed her cat, an adorable calico, to live in a hangar at the airport.

Both the couple and the airport employee were struck with how calm Minnie was. In fact, so was I. Aside from the occasional meow, Minnie seemed to take it all in amazing stride.

A few minutes later, I was escorted into an exam room with the most awesome decorations on the wall.

I could describe it, but just see for yourself:

How cool is that??????

Not 10 minutes later, I met my new vet, Dr. Berger. A very nice, if harried, bearded fellow, he got right to business.

“She looks very healthy; I think she’s going to make a great house cat for you. I’m just going to see if she’s been spayed already.”

Out came a razor, and a small patch of fur around her……spay area….was shaved. I cringed.

“Nope, she’s not been spayed before, so we’ll take care of that and all her shots. She should be done by….1:00 or so. We’ll call you.”

I double-checked the estimate I was given, and indeed, soup to nuts, everything was going to cost me a mere $145. When I explained why I was switching from my now former vet, Dr. Berger wasn’t surprised at the high estimate.

“They just don’t have the volume of these procedures that we do, so we can keep our costs down. I also just don’t want to gouge my customers that way,” he explained.

“Hey, say no more, you guys are my new vet for all of my cats,” I happily replied.

“How old do you think she is?” I asked. Vets seem to be able to guess with reasonable certainty a cat’s age by looking at their teeth, or counting their rings or something. No, wait, you count the rings on a tree, I think.

“My guess is she’s between 2–5 years old,” the vet said. Later on, over lunch, I decided to make Minnie’s birthday July 11th, 2016. The same day as Tucker, just 3 years younger. Somehow, that seemed to be right.

I was thrilled. So far, so good for my little Minnie. She was happy, appeared healthy, and was about to get what she needed, or should I say LOSE what she needed, to come home with us!

For the next three hours, I killed time as best as I could. Medford, while a pleasant little town in Suffolk County on Long Island, wasn’t exactly brimming with things to do.

Somewhere around noon, the vet called.

“Everything went perfectly, Minnie is all set and is recovering now. You can come get her anytime after 1:00. All her tests came out negative.”

This entire process was amazingly painless and easy. Minnie came through like a champ, and nothing was stopping her from becoming my official third cat!

After a celebratory lunch in a quiet TGI Fridays, I picked up Minnie, got some paperwork and instructions, paid the bill (thank you Care Credit) and brought her home, in the exact same carrier Tyler came home in over seventeen years previously.

It was nice to have a tuxedo cat again, it’s been entirely too long.

The next part I consider myself an old pro at. The whole “integrating a new cat into the home” thing.

I already had my bedroom set up for her to be confined in, with her own litter box, her own raised food bowls, toys, and a water fountain. Under the bed were Tiger and Jackson’s old beds, cleaned and ready to go.

Being the boss, the first cat to notice Minnie in the carrier when I walked in was Sophie, waiting in the kitchen for us as always.

“Sophie, this is Minnie, remember her? She’s come to live with us now.”

To my shock, Sophie seemed disinterested. I’ve been told that female cats don’t often get along, so I doubt this lack of interest will last too long.

Into the bedroom, I went to find Tucker curled up on our bed.

“Remember Minnie Tuck man?” I asked.

Meow? Chirp?

“Well, here she is, she’s come to live with us.”

I set the carrier down on the desk and allowed them to sniff each other safely.

After a few minutes of sniffing, Minnie, still a little out of it from her procedure, growled at Tucker. Tucker, ever the gentleman, understood and walked out of the bedroom. No harm done.

As is the proper way, I released Minnie right next to the litter box. She walked right out of the carrier, checked out the litter box, found where the food was, and proceeded to hide under the same bed every cat I’ve ever owned hid under, with the exception of Tyler, of course.

Minnie was home!

Since that first night, Minnie has been an absolute pleasure. She has made herself right at home, picking out the recliner in the bedroom as her favorite chair to lounge in, as well as my spot on our reclining love seat. She has free run of the house now and is just the happiest cat. Playing, cuddling with me every night, following me around, she’s a dream come true.

She’s not quite there yet with Sophie and Tucker, but they’re all getting used to each other. Aside from the expected growling and hissing, there have been no major incidents thus far. They’ve even played together, and just this morning, Minnie sniffed Tucker’s tail, something I consider a breakthrough. I doubt it will be that long before they’re all the best of friends. Well, maybe not Sophie.

It’s as if Minnie has always been my cat.

I don’t pretend to understand what drove this little seven-pound tuxedo cat to find my home and her way into my heart. I’d have to be a cat to really understand what goes on in their heads. It would not surprise me if somehow, from the Rainbow Bridge, Tyler, Tiger and Jackson had a hand, or shall I say paw, in this. That thought warms my heart.

All I can say is, I’m glad she found me. Minnie will never know anything but love, safety, comfort and home for the rest of her life.

Welcome home.