In my vet’s clinic is a little cat called “Sweetie Pie”. Her face really is sweet; her name really suits her.
Someone brought her to the clinic during last year's floods. The kitten, no more than a few months old then, had apparently been hit by a car and her two back legs had been crushed.
At the clinic, the vet surgeon couldn’t save the legs, and both were amputated.
Now, the wounds have healed. Sweetie Pie can scoot around on the floor, dragging herself forward on her two front legs. At other times, she enjoys a free ride, with someone carrying her around, just so she can enjoy the sights outside the cage.
At first, I was going to take Sweetie Pie home, but in the end my vet told me that she didn’t think it was a good idea. With the amputation of those two legs, the cat has no muscles to control her bladder. The urine dribbles out constantly. She must be cleaned and dried hourly, and her bedding changed.
She doesn’t seem to notice that her life isn't normal. Food, a clean cage, and all the servants she could want - for her, life is fine.
In some places, Sweetie Pie would have been put to sleep. Her life is, after all, not normal.
Some readers, in fact, have asked me why Varee hasn't been put to sleep - and unlike Sweetie Pie, Varee’s missing only a paw on her hind foot.
It’s been a few weeks since the little cat joined the household, and she’s settling in just fine.
Slowly, she’s making friends with the other cats and even trying to learn how to deal with Wan-Wan, my poodle pup. She’s never had much experience with dogs before, but in the past few days, I’ve even seen the two touch noses occasionally.
She slips along the floor, using that leg like a flipper. As she walks, she flaps it back and forth for balance. When she wants to jump up on a chair, she first flaps it around, as if she’s winding herself up for that leap.
One reader has even asked why I don't put Susu down. At 19 years old, this cat is really a senior. Although her health is fine overall, she suffers from arthritis in her hips and one back leg.
Sometimes, she can't get into the litter box and has to do her business on the floor nearby. Thank goodness for absorbent pads that catch most of her “misses”!
Putting her to sleep doesn’t seem an option, though. If the animal is happy in herself, if she’s eating well and enjoying her surroundings, it really doesn’t matter how her legs are.
So Varee slips up and down the stairs like an otter, and Susu gets painkillers whenever she needs them.
It’s my job, I suppose, to make sure that they can enjoy their abnormal lives.