A few weeks ago I posted about a very old, very injured stray cat I found in my yard. His left, rear leg was useless, and his right, rear leg was barely functioning. Something very bad had obviously happened, and the healed-over scar tissue on his legs was obvious. How he had managed to find food during his “recovery” astonished me.

A trip to the vet was made. She shook her head: “There’s nothing we can do.”

So, he’s now a VIP guest of Ross Land! I call him Limpy.

I made him a home, heavily padded on the bottom to offer maximum comfort for his old, damaged bones and muscles. It is just a box, with a ‘door’ cut into one side. He seems to relish his home.

He spends the night in his home, but I ever-so-gently haul him out every morning for breakfast. Then, I ever-so-gently place him in the sun, atop tall grass, to spend the day. He seems to enjoy this.

I bring food and water to him at lunch and dinner times. He scarfs this up. My smile is wide watching. Very wide.

But…he no longer seems to be walking, at all, and now potties in place. He is careful though not to pee on his tail. I’m alert to this, ahh, situation, and so move him to a new spot when he looks at me with pleading eyes. “Get me outta here!”. He seems appreciative after being moved and will nudge my hand.

My eyes tear up.

I don’t expect that this will last too long, and am grateful that I can do something to ease his days.

A few weeks ago, during a cold snap, I brought him into my office. He kindly joined me, and my bad leg, atop my desk. I previously posted this image: