They Call Me "TC"

They call me “TC"

Now, I'm sure you've guessed already, but “TC” stands for “That Cat.” I'm also sometimes called “TDC,” meaning “That Darn Cat,” but only when I've gotten in someone's way or been a bad boy, which I try not to do too often.

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I'm now almost six years old. I've lived at the animal shelter for almost my entire life because I was only about six weeks old – vet's best estimate – when I was rescued.

I was found with my siblings, drowning, in a sealed-up garbage bag. There were six of us, but two died.

The story goes we were floating down the river, caught up in a fast current, when kids fishing saw us.

They hollered to the nearby harbor patrol, “Hey! There's something moving in the black bag there!”

“Something's alive in that bag, and it's screaming and crying!”

Harbor patrol yelled back, “What are you talking about?”

“Right there! There!”

“There are cries coming from the trash bag.”

Harbor patrol yelled to some nearby anglers, “Hey, wanna lend us a hand?”

Fishermen along the riverbank used a gaff to snare the bag and get it out of the water. To say everyone was relieved is to understate their feelings.

When they got it onboard, they opened it and yelled, “It's kittens!”

A group of soaking wet, shivering cold kittens came out of the bag – well, most of them.

One of the guys used an old towel to wrap the babies up in and handed them to the harbor patrol.

The fisherman cautioned, “Ya better get them to a vet ASAP 'cause I'm not sure they're all gonna make it.”

The kids kept up their screaming that the kitties were dying and who did this and why couldn't they take a kitten home.

Harbor patrol took the kittens, boat lights flashing, toward shore. The crying continued from the blanket, albeit getting weaker the further they traveled.

Having called ahead, the boat was met at the shore by the local police, who drove the kittens the rest of the way to the vet.

“What happened next?” you ask.

“It's a sad thing. Not all of them made it. Two of those poor little babies drowned in the bag.” According to the vet.

Back riverside, a fisherman said, “You need to find these scum and throw them in jail.”

“There was a bunch of junk, like rocks and clam shells, in the bag under the kittens' bodies. There might be something we can identify them with,” suggested an officer.

“Oh, we'll find them and bring them to justice. I promise you that,” replied the frowning harbormaster.

One of the fishermen said, shrugging his shoulders, “It's actually a miracle any of them got out alive.”

Of course, I didn't understand any of that. I was too busy squirming and coughing, when I could suck in enough air to do so. Then on top of everything, I was given a bath!

I kept scratching the people who were trying to help me. However, I was just a baby, and I was very scared, not knowing they were trying to help.

I think they knew that, though, because no one got angry with me at me, even when I grabbed onto whoever picked me up. They just kept peeling my claws away and held me gently.

Once we were clean and dry, I could tell that one of my brothers and my sister had long, white hair and were elegantly beautiful; my other brother was short-haired, white, with a few little, black spots, and beautiful green eyes.

And then there was me. I had long, black fur with scattered white patches that made me kinda funny looking -- or so they said.

The shelter staff still tell me they're sorry that I haven't found my forever home yet. They don't know why nobody wants me except that my fur just isn't as pretty as my brothers' and sister's or any of my friends'.

“I don't understand,” I've meowed. “What does that mean, I'm not pretty enough to deserve a forever home?”

“Take me home with you,” I've cried over and over.

But not me. People look at me and say, “Oh, look at him.” Then they laugh.

“Wow, look at those spots,” they say.

“His fur is thinning in some places too. He'll probably be bald by the time he's three.” I’m six now and I’m not bald!

The vet said I had some skin condition but thought I might get better in time. But there has been no improvement, ever.

It's sad not to be wanted. I'm a good boy, I think. I use my litter box, and I never drag my butt along the carpet. I use my scratch box to make my claws sharp, and I climb up the cat tree to go to sleep.

When new people come to look at us and pick out who gets a forever home, I play and meow and grab at them and try really hard to show them I'm adorable. But nothing's worked. Ever.

In the beginning when I was still a kitten, I believed somebody would pick me, like they did my siblings. But they never did.

Over the years, of course, more and more assorted cats and kittens came into the rescue's care, but nobody looked at me.

Sometimes a few of the older cats were put in with me until they got adopted. It was nice to be snuggled by them. I miss them and I wish someone would take me home too.

One day, two women wandered into the rescue, which was decorated for National Cat Day with balloons and signs that they were having a sale.

I meowed and cried and ran to the side of the cage so they could see and pet me. My friends followed me, which is why I run out in front. If I don't, they're all so cute, nobody will ever notice me!

Then one of the women asked to hold me! I couldn't believe it, and neither could the volunteer. She asked more than once, “Wait, you mean TC?”

The woman quickly said, “Oh, gosh, no. I'm sorry. I meant this gorgeous Persian kitten,” pointing to one of the new babies next to me. I understood and meowed to her, “Good luck! Be happy!”

But the other woman pointed to me and said, “Yes. I mean that black-and-white cat.”

“Oh, you do mean TC.”

“Yes. What's he like?”

She handed me to the woman, “Oh, he's the sweetest boy ever. We've been mystified as to why nobody has picked him yet.”

“Oh, I'm not. I think I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm willing to bet he has vitiligo, hasn't he?”

“Why, yes, he does! TC was almost all black when he was first rescued. But then some of his hair started turning white, and fur fell out in patches.”

“When we took him to the vet, he diagnosed him as having 'vitiligo.'”

“I thought so! That's what happens to human skin too. Areas turn white. In fact, this used to be known as 'white leprosy.'”

The volunteer asked, “Are you a doctor?”

“No, I'm not. But my little girl has vitiligo, and we've learned a lot about it over the years.”

“Oh, how incredible. Are you looking for a pet for your daughter?”

“I wasn't until I saw that cat – and you call him “TC” for “That Cat”?

“Yes. Because of his fur at first. But he makes us laugh every day, and he makes us love him more and more because he's so very sweet.”

“Do you think he'd be good with a little girl?”

“Oh, yes. I'm sure he would. He's gentle, playful, cuddly, and house trained.”

“How old do you think he is, about?”

“Oh, we know he's six years old. He and his littermates were thrown into Alligator Creek in a sealed-up garbage bag and left to drown.”

“Wow! Did they ever get the scum who threw them away, do you know?”

“Yes, they did. They tried really hard to find out who did it, and eventually, they solved the puzzle.

“A local journalist who volunteers with us from time to time told us we'd want to be sure to catch the news that night. And we did.”

Another rescuer added, “We watched the local TV news together before we went home, and we saw it! We saw the local harbor police arrest the lowlifes who did this.”

“Oh, when was that?”

“I'll have to ask the journalist to remind me because I forget.”

“Will you, please? My daughter and I would love to read it online.”

“Of course. We were all thrilled to see it!”

The rescuer continued, “I'm almost afraid to ask, but do you think TC might have found his forever home with you?”

“Please call me Janice. And, oh, yes, he has. There's no question.”

“Oh, my gosh! Really? I can't believe it, Janice. The other volunteers are going to be so jealous they weren't here when TC finally got a home.”

TC heard people talking about forever homes and assumed the gray Persian would be going to hers. He thought to himself how happy he was for her, but how much he wished he could be her.

Janice continued, “My little girl has vitiligo. Her beautiful black skin is turning white. In fact, her condition has gotten worse year to year. She's become shy and is afraid to go to school. She comes home crying because she gets made fun of.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. Kids are terrible.”

“For sure!”

“Yes, but now she'll have a best friend named 'TC,' who looks just like her!”

Now, all I heard and understood was that the rescue worker held out her hands to take me back from the lady who – like everybody else in the world – didn't want me enough to bring me home.

So I spat at her as I was leaving her arms because I'd thought maybe I'd have a forever home, and now it seemed like that wouldn't happen.

I snuggled back up to the worker; I couldn’t understand what they were saying, and I didn't care anymore.

Well, it turns out the woman was asking the volunteer to keep me safe until her daughter's sixth birthday, which was on the 2^nd, when she could bring me home.

She said softly, “Oh, yes, of course,” as her eyes welled with tears.

Janice promised to be back by noon on the 2^nd so she and TC would be settled in back at home when school got out.

Well, I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was I was being put back in my cage. As usual. And I skipped dinner that night because I didn't feel too good.

The next day I had to go to the vet, which I figured was because I hadn't eaten the night before. Then I got shots, which I really hated. I cried and yelled even though it wasn’t really that bad.

Then I was given a bath! I hate water. It took a lot of workers to give me a bath because water has always scared me. But they said they understood and forgave me.

They stroked my fur – even though it's ugly – and they held up toys for me to play with and things for me to climb. I supposed it was because I'd been scared of the bathwater.

The next day was the 2^nd. Many of the volunteers I knew came in that day to hold me. It made me so very happy that my favorite rescuers came to hug me and visit with me even though I didn't know why.

Wow! What a wonderful day!

Then just after noontime, the lady who'd held me the other day came back in. I was confused. Did this mean she was going to get some other cat or kitten to bring home to her forever home?

Or could I maybe have been wrong to spit at her? Could she have come back for me?

Well, the rescuers took turns hugging and kissing me and saying that they knew all along that “That Cat” would wind up with the best home ever; and, boy, did he deserve it!

They put me in what they said was a “carrier” for the woman to bring me home. I didn't mind small spaces, so I wasn't too angry at being put in it.

I thought, “Thank you so much, everybody.” They took a “Forever Home for TC” picture, and then off we went.

Finally, I got to leave the rescue because I, TC, was going to my very own forever home where it didn't matter how different I was.

Wow!