Pet Tales  ~ The Twins

This is the photo of Buster that was plastered all over Jekyll Island. Every shop, every hotel, the golf course club house, the gas station... If you missed seeing Buster's picture in late August/early September of 1987...you were *not* on Jekyll Island. Even the telephone man carried one in his truck. We flooded the Island with Buster's mug, but to no avail. Nobody even saw him. Oh, we had a couple of reports, but when we checked them out, they were only vague look-alikes. After about a month went by, we were beginning to lose hope of ever seeing our baby again. :-(

Then we got a call from the people at the wharf. They needed to get rid of the kittens, and hadn't made much progress. They still had 6 of the 7 in the litter, but one other was reserved. That left 5. They wanted us to come and get one. Well...some people have to go right out and get another pet when they lose one, but I've never been that way. In fact...I'm the exact opposite of that. The only thing I wanted in this whole world was to have Buster back. I backed out. That is...I *tried* to back out. They told us if they didn't get rid of them all by that evening, they would take the remaining kittens to a pet store or the shelter. What a dirty tactic! It worked. ;-)

The other half and I talked it over. I suggested that if we were going to get another kitten, we should get two. There were actually three good reasons for this. First...if we took two kittens, we wouldn't have that problem we had with Buster...all the pacing and restlessness. They would be playmates for each other. Second...we'd be saving another kitten from doom. And third (which turned out to be the most significant reason)...if we took two kittens, it was almost a certainty that Buster would return, cause there's no way two adults and three cats could all fit in that dinky, one room apartment! We'd either have to move (which we really couldn't afford at the time), or be forced into a difficult decision as to which one to give up. Sounds like Murphy's Law to me! ;-) Oh yeah...one other reason...he liked the black one, I liked the black and white one. Everybody's happy. ;-) We went over after work that day, and rescued two kittens. A friend went with us and took one also...the other black and white one. The remaining kittens also found homes, so it worked out pretty well.

Enter..."The Twins". I know...they don't look like twins, but they're from the same litter, so what can I say? Lucky on the left...Bosun on the right. Cute, aren't they? :-) Now these kittens were right at home on the wharf, but when thrown into the luxury of apartment living, they weren't quite sure what to make of it. The shag carpeting must've felt strange to their little feet, cause they picked them up *so* high when they walked. It was pretty comical. They actually hated the feeling, cause they used to sit on the feet of the pedestal table and stare down at the carpet. They looked like they were adrift on life rafts in the middle of the ocean...with water all around. Like if they stepped off, they'd sink! Silly little kitties! Okay...you're cute, but I'd trade you *both* for Buster...in a New York minute! I actually hated myself for feeling that way, cause they *were* cute as they could be. But I was still depressed. :-(

Three days after we got the kittens, I came home after a 12-hour day at work (long story there) and about 3 hours of happy hour. I was beat, and had to be back in the office at 7:00AM. It was about 10 o'clock...on a Friday night. I pulled in the driveway and got out of the car. That's when I heard it. A cat screaming! Could it be??? Naah! No way! Buster had been gone for five weeks. Everybody on the Island was looking for him. There's no way he could be gone that long, and still be alive, without *anybody* seeing him. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I just had to investigate.

I ran in the house to get a flashlight. The meows were so loud, I was sure you could hear them a mile away. Somewhere, there was a cat in distress. While I was in the house, I called back down to the bar, and summoned my other half to come home. Then I went back outside, and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It was pitch black, and in the darkness, it was hard to tell. The meowing seemed to be echoing off all the houses, and was difficult to pinpoint. I flashed the light in front of the apartment next door. I saw a black cat there, one of many strays in the neighborhood. "Is it you?", I asked him. (Like he was gonna answer me. ;-)) The cat wasn't moving, but the wild meowing continued. I was sure it wasn't coming from him. I decided I'd have to go in the backyard and look. You just don't know how bad I hated to do that. I'm really hyper about spiders, snakes...and all the creepy crawlies of the night. On a hot September night in south Georgia, there's no telling what you'll run into in the backyard. ;-))

The wild meowing continued as I made my way to the back of the building. As I was walking back, I wondered if I'd even recognize Buster if it *was* him. I mean...it had been five weeks...and all orange tabbies look alike, right? When I got behind the building, I realized the sound was coming from above. I flashed the light into the trees. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack! I was moving the light around fast...trying to scan through all the branches of all the oaks. Then I saw a flash of orange. I moved the light slowly back, toward where I thought I saw it. The light came to rest on Buster Bear. YAY!!! :-D

Well...to make a long story short (which at this point is impossible ;-)), it took four hours, two phone calls, and three friends to get that cat down out of the tree and into the house. It also took a fall off the roof, on the part of my other half. He was a hurtin' puppy for awhile after that. But after everybody else went home, and all the excitement had died down, Buster finally decided to come in the house. We had to leave the door open, for him to come in on his own. (Which also allowed every creepy crawlie in the great outdoors the same advantage. :-/) He knew he was supposed to be there, but he was so skittish, he just couldn't bring himself to come in at first. When he finally got up the courage, I grabbed him and squeezed him so tight, he probably thought I was torturing him. ;-))

Hey...what about the twins?! I had locked them in the bathroom when the fiasco started, so they had been in there for quite awhile. I turned to the SO and said, "Well...do you think it's time to introduce Buster to his two brothers?" We decided there was no time like the present, so I opened the door. The two innocent little babies, who had been so terrified for the past three days, suddenly became *very* territorial. This was *their* domain! Another comical moment. ;-) Buster just kinda looked at them, then turned to the food bowl. Five weeks in the wild must not have yielded much food. He had lost 3 of his 15+ pounds, and didn't seem to care about much else besides food. The two little ones didn't even phase him, even though they were bristling and threatening. He couldn't have cared less.