Monday, January 28, 2008

The Cats of My Life: Bobo

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In terms of my journey, this is the last cat. She was a foster that I didn’t want. I had been searching for something after Penny died and got in touch with a local rescue group to help them. Basically, what I wanted to do was sit with them during the adoption events, take photographs for the website, etc.

This guy I met ended up being a manipulative bastard, and I was an easy mark. He told me of how many cats were dying in his cramped apartment, how they needed someplace else to stay – just for a few months. Some place like. . my apartment After a month or so of guilt trips I relented, and he brought over two not one cat—and the trouble began.

That first night Bobo shredded the bottom of my box spring and climbed in. Now, this was the first bed I ever bought. This was the first bed that was purely MY bed, not a hand me down, not my mother’s old bed, not an air bed, not a futon. I was livid, I had to get the cat out (ever try sleeping with an animal climbing around inside your mattress?) then duct tape the box spring.

“When are you going to adopt her out” was a common phrase with me, but he didn’t even bring her down to show her on weekends, where I was still helping out. Then, I think as he realized my guilt associated with the animals he began to delve deeper, telling me how all his money is spent solely for the good of the felines, and how the money I spent on my camera (which I was using to take photos of the cats then edit for the website) should have been given to him instead, as he wouldn’t be as frivolous as I obviously was. Luckily, I saw that as a warning sign and stopped helping him. Up to that point I had been donating a lot of time and energy, after that, I just wanted the cats out.

Then he admitted it was his tactic, to get people to foster but with no intention of adopting them to someone else. “After a while people get used to the cats and generally keep them,” he told me. So I figured, fine, I’ll keep them then send them to another adoption agency and told him I’d adopt them. “Then you owe me $200” he told me. “What the F*ck” was my reply. I’d given tons of time and energy, these animals were supposed to have already been wormed and yet the first week worms crawled out of one’s rear end (in full view of me, and on me) and I had to pay for worming, leukemia testing, etc., to the tune of over $300 already. Plus, the contract stated he could sue me if I got rid of the animal (like the recent Ellen debacle) and he had such a big ego, he would do it.

One of the cats then got adopted, but Bobo was tougher. She was unstable. She’d be sweet and cute and cuddly, getting up on my lap, and then turn and bite me or scratch me. She liked to snuggle up in my armpit at night, but half way through she’d grab my arm and kick, and the scars still aren’t fully faded. This was the cat that drove me over the edge.

I had her for over a year, I was trying to anticipate her moods. What did I do that caused her to act out? I bought her a cat condo, she took my favorite silk pillow as her bed, she was fed only organic cat food. I tried everything, but her mood would shift without provocation. Things would be good for a day or two, and then she'd attack me again. It got to the point where I’d just look at her and cry. For three days straight I cried, even missing work.

And that’s when it hit me – She was just like my mother, and I needed help. That’s when I started asking around for a psychiatrist and told the guy to get her out of my house that weekend (I also called other shelters, but all were full). That’s when I decided “screw it, I’m being railroaded and manipulated by a cat and an ass with a God complex that just uses other people to deify himself as some savior. I need to put myself first.”

Bobo was the bottom I reached before realizing I needed to find that rope to climb back up and find myself. That was when I started therapy.

And the first thing the therapist said?

“Geez, do I really need to tell you that she was your mother?”

Nope, I had figured it out, and that’s why I called for help.


Amel's Realm said...

Interesting story. Bobo was really something, eh? I couldn't believe he shredded the bottom of your box spring and it was YOUR first bed, too!!! Oh dear...

However, I'm GLAD to hear that Bobo was the one that made you go seek a therapist! ;-D

It's not fun living with a moody person or pet. And I dislike manipulative people. :-((((

~Deb said...

Ooooh sorry to hear about the bed.......but you know what's so sad is that the cat shelters are MAXED OUT! And then people pawn them off and it seems like a vicious cycle. I hope everything works out... manipulative people suck, don't they?

Good luck!

heavenabove said...

I'm glad you had the heart to take this cat in. Too bad Bobo wasn't more stable but I'm sure God must have sent Bobo to you for the purpose of your healing. That is special even though Bobo was a problem cat.

Scraps said...

Even if living with Bobo was hell, at least some good came of it, in that he made you realize that you needed to get help and start rebuilding yourself from the inside.

I'm sorry this is your second-to-last post...or at least that's what it sounded like from the beginning of the post before this one.

Victorya said...

Amel - yeah, she was something. And that bed, oh, the attachments I have with that bed! And I can't beleive how much I let this guy manipulate me either, pisses me off now.

Deb- yeah, they are maxed, but I don't think manipulation is the answer, puts a bad taste in people's mouths, ya know? And yeah, they do suck!

heaven- I'm hoping she got the home and help she needed, just like I got the help I needed. I did spoil her though, when she left she still got my silk pillow, lol.

scraps - not completely stopped, if I ever write the next post, more will be explained. Just so friggen swamped with work and doctor's appointments right now!

david mcmahon said...

You are such a talented writer, Victorya ....

Mima said...

I am over here visiting from David's blog, and also have had rescue cats with varying success! The one that currently lives with me though is a little angel, rules the roost, and is totally adored, I can't imagine being without her. Sorry that you had such a bad experience, and amazed that you coped for so long with her before she left you. I'm also glad that she was the reason that you sought help, as that is an important thing to do when you need it, but can be such a tough decision to make.

Sandi McBride said...

hahahahahahahahahahahahahah hiccup hahahahahahaha
had one of those
we called her Crazy Cat
she adopted us
we never had sense enough to put her crazy ass on the road
when she died of old age (15 at least) my daughter (inlaw) sent out cards saying "they're throwing a party in hell tonight, their misstress is home!"
hahahahahahaha....and you escaped with your sanity...go figure!
ps, came from David's for this tour down memory lane!

Victorya said...

Ahah! I found video I have of her!

David - thanks so much for your continued support, it means the world to me!

Mima-yeah, sort of a mixed blessing, no? I still have faint scars on my wrists from her, but in the end I'm the better because I at least had the strength to finally get rid of her, then other bad things still in my life.

Sandi-hahahah, love that line about throwing the party in hell. Yeah, this one was NOTHING like my sweet Penny, that angel from heaven. how in the world did you last 15 years?