Memory
Storm Cloud (Stormy)
May 2, 1999  -  April 15, 2013
Storm Cloud (Stormy for short) was given his name for two reasons.  Reason one
was because he was a feral, so the name is self-explanatory, although it didn't take
long for him to settle down and realize how much better life was for him than when
he was out on his own.

He became a sweet, lovable, lap cat who could be held like a baby.  His favorite
trick was to crawl onto our shoulders, drape himself around our necks, arch his
body, get onto our heads, and roll off into our arms.

The second reason for his name isn't as obvious.  He had a pretty little patch of
white hair on his back that reminded us of a cloud.

We and the emergency vet estimated his age as four months old when we found him,
which was in the middle of the street after being hit by a car.  We didn't see the
accident happen, but it was pretty obvious what had taken place when we saw him
lying there as we were on our way home from feeding feral cats.  He wasn't one of
the ferals in the colony, but we'd seen him the night before sitting by the side of
the road.  We'd commented to each other that we hoped he'd stay out of the
street.  At first, we didn't know it was the same kitty, and we thought whoever it
was, was probably dead.  We stopped to check, and to our surprise, it was indeed
the same kitty, and he was alive.  He was moving a little and looking around, but
couldn't get up.  We got a blanket from the truck and took him with us.       

At first we were unsure what to do.  It was about nine p.m. and there aren't any
all-night vets in our town, or any to call at that hour.  We tried to assess his
condition with little success.  We looked in the phone book and found that there
was an emergency pet clinic thirty-five miles away, so we called them for advice.  
We were told how to look in his mouth to check the color of his gums, etc.  Luckily
we didn't heed the receptionist's advice, which was that since he'd been hit by a
car he probably had many injuries that would run into a lot of money, and since he
wasn't even our cat, her opinion was not to bring him in.  So, we hung up and after
discussing it, and noticing that he had stood up and seemed able to walk a little,
that we would call back and let them know that we were on our way.

It was September 1, 1999, and summer was winding down.  The night was windy and
actually cool - a welcome relief from the months of well over one hundred degrees.  
It was sometime after midnight when we returned home after seeing the vet.  He
had examined the patient and found no serious injuries (we were so happy), but
wanted to keep him overnight for observation, x-rays, and IV fluids.  The vet was
concerned about what we planned to do with him long term.  We talked between
ourselves and came to the decision that we'd adopt him, which made the vet very
happy.  We were instructed to return the next morning at eight a.m. to pick up our
new cat and take him to our own vet for further evaluation.

When we returned, he was much more alert than the night before, and the vet had
determined that he was feral.  When moved or touched, he played possum, which
ferals do when in such situations.  The vet was concerned about him making a good
pet, but we told him we'd adopted a feral in the past and thought we could handle
him.

After the rest of the day at our own vet for observation, he was sent home with
instructions to give him Tender Loving Care, which we did....from that day
forward.  Our vet was concerned that he might be blind because of the lack of
reaction to her hand in front of his face, but it was just the feral in him, not
wanting to react.

The next couple of days he ate and drank when hand fed, but he looked as if he had
a hangover.  I think maybe he had a bad headache.  He wasn't able to get in the
litter box at first.  He basically rested and recuperated.

The trouble began when he started to feel better.  He truly was feral, and we had
to wear gloves, and leg warmers on our arms to get near him.  He was in a bathroom
at our neighbor's home (Stormy's human grandma).  She was away at the time and it
made a good place to nurse him back to health, away from our other cats.  We had
all the small spaces blocked off so he couldn't hide from us, so we just showered
him with love and patience by talking softly and stroking his fur.  He was angry,
and looked away and ignored us.

When he was well enough to come to the kingdom and see the other cats (we had six
others at that time) we got him into a carrier (not easy) and brought him to the
kingdom and put him into a big chicken wire cage (built under a ping pong table)
that we use whenever a situation dictates.  He got into the wooden bed in the cage
and looked quite sad, scared, mad, and upset.  I would crawl in there to talk to him
every hour or so, and the other cats walked around the cage to investigate.  I
noticed that he was interested in them, and he was also interested in me.

He had some tape on his arm from his IV that I needed to get off, but I was
apprehensive to get my hands too close.  It needed to be cut off with scissors.  I
tested the waters, so to speak, and when I felt I could get close enough without
being ripped to shreds, I slipped scissors under the tape and cut it loose.  He
hissed, but nothing more.  After that I continued touching his head, stroking and
petting, giving a kiss now and then (met with a hiss), singing to him, and in no time
the hisses stopped and he was melting into my hands.  He got out of the bed and
rubbed his head on my hands and I knew we were going to be successful.

He also showed much interest in playing with the other cats.  He'd venture out of
the cage and follow them, first a foot or two, then run back to his safety
zone....then six feet.... back to safety....ten feet, and so on.  He became a happy
kitty.

And he was happy here for nearly fourteen years.  He loved all the cats we had
when he arrived, and the ones that came after, welcoming them and tending to them
like they were his own.  He hated cats that came to the fence though....ones he knew
were not supposed to be here.  If any got into the kingdom, he fought tooth and nail
to chase them away.  I think he was worried about them threatening his family.  
One time he was injured in a fight in the kingdom.  The base of his tail was
cracked, and that was very painful and took quite awhile to heal.  He was about
eight years old at that time.

His nicknames were "Baby Son," "Cloud," "Cloud Boy," and "Bo Bo Son."

He liked to do head bonks.  I'd kneel on the ground and call him and put my head
down toward him, and he'd come to me and bonk my head with his.  He liked being
brushed.  Mostly he loved the other cats in the family....sleeping and snuggling with
them, always so patient with the little ones.

For his first shots, we took him back to the vet from the emergency room (at his
private practice).  We thought he might like to see the change in our little cat.  He
held him and visited with us for awhile, and he was pleased that Stormy had turned
into such a sweet pet.

A gentle boy, and we were extremely lucky that we came upon him that cool, windy
night.  All of the kitties he befriended were truly lucky as well.
Stormy
and
Simba
Stormy
and
Pepe
Stormy
and
Danny Boy
Stormy
and
Cocoa Puff
Stormy
and
Honey Nut
Stormy
and
Mia
Stormy
and
Elsa
Stormy
and
Prince Poppycock
Stormy
and
Dolly
Stormy
and
Polly
Stormy
and
Cinderella