Small World

A few days ago my mom was volunteering at a riding stable for children with disabilities, something she's done for years. She was cleaning out one horse's stall with another volunteer, who was telling everyone a story about a campground she and her husband visit.

This campground was home to many stray cats. The woman and her husband fed the cats all summer, but during the winter the cats had to fend for themselves. The owner of the campground wasn't as fond of the cats, and one day told the woman that he was going to start getting rid of them.

"What do you mean, getting rid of them?" she asked.

"I'm gonna start shooting them," he replied, "And I'm going to start with that crippled one the next time I see him."

There was one crippled cat there who was a favorite of the woman and her family. He was a friendly orange tabby, and the family was dismayed when they came back one spring to find that he'd broken his leg over the winter and it had healed up improperly. He always hung around with a white cat, and he was so personable that the woman's children would hold out spoons of cat food that he'd happily eat out of.

The woman hated the idea of such a friendly cat getting shot, so she tried to catch him. He was tough to nab, but eventually she caught him and his friend and turned them in to the shelter.

At this point something clicked in my mom's brain. "Was it a front paw that was broken?" she asked.

"Yeah," the woman said.

"And was it curled up like this?" my mom asked, folding her hand like a hook.

"Yeah," the woman said, surprised.

"And did you turn him in to the shelter where they named him Rusty?" my mom asked, grinning.

"Yeah!" the woman said. "How did you know?"

Yep, it turns out that poor stray was my Rusty. It turns out the woman was active in the shelter, so she remembered Cider too. She was happy to hear how the two were doing.

I had no idea that Rusty been a stray for years before he was picked up, and I certainly had no idea that he'd been close to being shot. It makes me slightly nauseous to imagine him dying in that campground. Knowing more of his story makes me feel even luckier that he got picked up when he did.