I love including cute photos of the cats I get to write about here on Felis Catus.
But for reasons that will become immediately apparent, that’s not going to work with Dobro. So, I’m afraid his namesake guitars will have to suffice.
As you can see, our marmalade cutie is…well, not ready for his close-up:
No, Dobro was not filming a low-budget horror movie in this photo. He was just greeting me in his distinctive Dobro way. With a hiss and a pop and a spray of spits, Dobro lunges out, then back, whenever a human bean is foolish or oblivious enough to approach…
But I can’t blame those human beans. Heck, I am one of those human beans. There’s just something about Dobro’s cuter-than-should-be-permissible face, his soft (at least, I think it’s probably soft) marmalade fur, that makes you want to kiss and smoosh him.
Word to the wise: keep all hands, feet and kissy lips inside the vehicle when visiting Dobro. (If you’d like to keep aforementioned appendages, anyway.)
But, as always, we can’t blame the cat for the cattitude. After all, death-dodging Dobro hasn’t yet understood too many reasons to trust the big hairless creatures who dare to invade his lair.
When Dobro first made his way to Tabby’s Place, he was in no mood to snuggle with our kind. The orange boy had spent most of his short life outdoors, and the only glimpses he’d had of humankind were through the bars of a trap and in the shuffle from place to place to place. As far as Dobro could tell, human beans hadn’t done him any favors – far from it next. (Too bad he couldn’t recognize that, aside from saving his life, we’d given him a very cool name.)
But I can’t blame Dobro. Aside from being angry in the extreme, the red boy was hurting something fierce. It soon became apparent that breathing wasn’t coming very easily to Dobro.
After a race to the emergency vet, we discovered that Dobro needed surgery – immediately. Somehow, most of his internal organs, from pancreas to stomach, had become squashed up into his chest cavity sometime before he came to Tabby’s Place. Without surgery, he’d perish swiftly – likely within hours. Even with surgery, his chances were quite slim.
You can imagine what a happy dance I did when the text message arrived from Jonathan that night: “Dobro fine – very lucky boy :-)”
Now we’ve just got to convince Dobro that his luck has changed for good, and his blessings have only begun.
Honestly, I do believe it’s going to be a long, sloooow road with Dobro. He’s presently living in our Special Needs Suite, where he remains as invisible as possible when Vile Human Beans are afoot. Every so often, as we’re closing up for the night, I’ll catch a glimpse of marmalade darting across the window, and I smile knowing that Dobro’s hours of amusement are about to begin. Who knows what fun this young rocker has with roomies Precious, Gretta and Hughley by night?
And who knows what fun lies ahead for those of us determined to love Dobro just the way he is…in whatever ways he’ll let us love him? I’m confident that Dobro’s tune will eventually turn from a minor to a major key. He does, after all, have the dream team in his corner. The same supervolunteers who socialized the once-terrified Skye, Strudel and Puzzle are on the case – and they’re in love with Dobro already. Now that’s love – grace-laden love.
Here’s hoping that, with a little love and a lot of grace, we and Dobro will have some beautiful music in our future.