“Is Murdock friendly? Can I move him to another crate for cleaning?”
“Oh, yeah, as long as you aren’t trying to express his bowel, he’s fine.” I’m never one to do the latter – Tabby’s Place has a magnificent staff who manage such personal issues…daily…multiple times each day…for multiple cats. But, it is well-within my comfort zone to temporarily relocate a cooperative kitty for crate cleaning.
On that day, Murdock was still very new to the lobby. On that day, following protocol, he was still crated, pending his full integration with fellow residents. On that day, I was helping with the morning cleaning. On that day, I met Murdock for the very first time. On that day, history was made.
“What’s with Murdock’s tail?”
“He’s a Manx.”*
“Really? He was actually born without a tail?”
“Yup!”
And that was the day when I first met a tailless cat that actually came that way in his original packaging. As a long-term volunteer, I’ve met many tailless wonders. Every one of them had to have their tail removed surgically or lost it irrecoverably (For the moment, let’s pretend that a cat can simply lose a tail as easily and painlessly as a child can lose a toy.), but all of them were born with some manner of tail.
Tails (miraculous things!) come in all manner of forms. Some are long and swishy. Some are short and stubby. A few even make a left hand turn at Albuquerque. Some are so long that a kitten can sprain her tail while playing.
Add this to all the tails that have been shortened by necessity One extreme case is evidenced by Hips, whose tail is basically non-existent (let’s just pretend that a magician made it disappear, but couldn’t make it reappear again.). Doing the math, things should add up to a long-term volunteer being prepared for any kind of hind-end situation.
Nothing…NOTHING…NOTHING can prepare any person for Murdock’s hind-end situation.
Starting with other points on and about this pussy-cat, Murdock is an easy-going, buff-colored boy. He is cloud soft, and his fur is reminiscent of slightly varied shades of perfectly baked shortbread. His weight puts him around a solid medium-small. All of this makes Murdock a delightful armful to snuggle while moving him for the purpose of cleaning his crate (or for any made up excuse to hold him). His demeanor and size combine to make one linger a bit longer than needful before putting him down. And, then, there’s that hind-end.
There is no tail.
There is no tale of a tail where once there was a tail.
There was never a tail to tell a tale about.
What is there? There is the littlest bit of floof at the base of Murdock’s back. It’s like a bit of cotton that was separated from the rest of the ball. It’s like a wisp downy feather, molted by a nestling, that floated down from a tree and attached itself to a cat’s rear quarters.
“Adorable” does not do Murdock’s floof justice.
No words about Murdock or any part of his enchanting self do justice for him or his parts. Okay, sure, there are hard facts.
Yes, Murdock is incontinent.
BUT HE LIVES ON THIS CONTINENT!!
Yes, Murdock needs help to empty his bowels.
BUT HE LIVES AT TABBY’S PLACE!!
Yes, Murdock arrived at the exact time when he was needed most.
Following some hard losses – by adoption and otherwise – some of us needed exactly Murdock to cheer us up and to remind us that love is enduring and unconditional, even when conditions change situations in ways that we would never wish for. As for Murdock, his situation brought him to Tabby’s Place.
The miracle of Murdock’s situation is that he has demonstrated an ability to become an instant best friend to anyone. On that particular day, upon his slower-than-necessary return to the freshly-cleaned crate, Murdock was unfazed by Jack’s minor grumbling at being ejected, ever so gently, from the the crate. The only thing that does seem to faze the fathomless depths of Murdock’s relaxed charm is that thing about getting human help with certain delicate issues that he deems unbecoming to discuss. (Dude, this is Tabby’s Place. Poop happens. Poop is unavoidable. Poop is discussed…a lot.)
It is too soon to know whether Murdock will come to accept these necessary daily administrations with the grace and tiny squeak of Prescott, or if he will still be howling with indignation after years of the same routine like Olive. It is also too soon to know if any of us mere humans will ever get accustomed to that perfect little bit of floof that delicately decorates his business end.
What am I saying? Murdock is a cat, and this is Tabby’s Place. We will always be enamored of that bit of floof and with that entire feline. We will always greet him excitedly as if each time is the first time, even as we grow to love him more and more over time. Murdock is a Tabby’s Place cat, and that means forever and always and unconditionally.
*Murdock has not admitted to any specific pedigree, and he said he lost some paperwork when he passed through Albuquerque. So, we don’t know if his ancestors actually populated the Isle of Man. We do know that Murdock loves shortbread, but it doesn’t have to be Scottish.