Woodbury

This guy kept me alive. I’m gonna keep him alive. A lonely, lonely year but I’d go out and my savage bear size feral cat Woodrow came and sat with me. He lives in the yard. It took me a year to touch him. A year of leaving out food. Water. Crouching down saying hey man I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be scared.

Then a year getting closer. Feeding him all the time. Brushing him. Petting him all the time. And he still doesn’t like the house. Still eyeballs the open door. Someone locked him in once. The city caught him, hacked off his nuts and half his ear.

I came home last night. Went out back to lift. And he was sitting out front trying to piss and couldn’t. He roams around when I lift. Gets petted between sets. But he was stock still. Something very wrong. Squatting in the dirt with his tail to the side ten minutes.

And I called the 24 hour vet. Because thank God my ex once told me this kills cats.

I had the week off and didn’t go anywhere. No one wanted to see me. Everybody flaked. Too chickenshit to go solo to Mexico. This was why. So I’d be here. We’re at capacity said the vet. But take him somewhere, right now.

God let me take good care of Woodrow. I had Bud’s box, with airholes. And he was so fucked up he didn’t resist getting stuffed in it. Picture of Bud on the dresser. Next to his ashes. Can you please put in a word with the cat gods. Driving shakey handed up the freeway to the next closest vet. Saturday night drunks whip around me in high speed Armenian vehicles. The cat moaning. Will he hate me.

And I parked 75 yards up the street because the space in front was blocked off. Woodrow was squirming out of the box. His head and neck breaking out with wild animal strength while I clumsily hugged the imploding cardboard running. Got to the place and pulled the door handle and it didn’t open. No one allowed in, said the intercom. I got an emergency, the cat is going to die. Later I learned the space was blocked so people with sick cats can park there.

What’s your cat’s name. Woodrow– he’s not my cat really– he’s feral. Please just open the door– Woodrow. Someone came out. Before he broke out into cold streets miles from home dying. They texted a form to pay thousands in advance. For “Woodbury Tacos.”

That’s a fucking great name.

Woodbury looks forlornly out the window at the neighbors yard. I say lookin good, Woodbury.

They take care of him too. Longer than me. Good people but they have indoor cats. Worried he didn’t come for food this morning. I had to explain. They offered to chip in. But it wasn’t the full six grand. The vet called at midnight. X-rays showed him blocked but he expressed urine before they had to operate.

He’s in the house. I had litter already. Because I wanted him to stay. To be my cat. My cousin gets cats from the dump. He told me put out a litterbox. The cat thinks I can take a shit here, it’s home. He didn’t.

Get another cat, my AA sponsor said. Get a healthy young cat instead of chasing this sick old fucked up alley cat.

I want this sick old fucked up alley cat.

Woodrow doesn’t hate me. Woodbury. He wants to get out but he wants to be brushed. His back leg three times as big as it should be. And they shaved his front leg. And he pissed himself in the box. But he let me clean him off. And he didn’t fight too bad when I held him down to squirt painkillers in his mouth. Woodrow’s locked inside while I monitor his urinary function. Medicate him. He tries to dig holes under the door. Won’t piss yet. May have to get operated on. Catheterized. Have his cock cut off so his piss doesn’t back up and kill him.

God let me take good care of Woodrow. A gentle loving cat who’s been so good to me. Let me give him a good life.

Buddy you’re gonna make it.