I have a little rescue kitty that I found in the middle of the road along side my local Walmart. And someone, before they dumped her or she escaped, had cut off her tail. I got her home to the house with six guineas, two dogs and a cat already in residence (Sassy my older black and white cat has a nice looonnnngg tail) to be greeted by an irate Grandpa. NO MORE ANIMALS! So she was washed, frontlined and fed out on the front porch. Where little Bella, as we called her, stayed for several weeks until Grandpa got used to her and felt sorry for her when the temperature dropped into the low 20s. Once he gave permission for her to enter, she never left. She is a very sweet kitty, purring at even a hint of a petting. And when I sit down, she’s right there waiting to cuddle—the perfect kitty in other words.
Sassy didn’t take too kindly to little Bella and I
think she considered killing her on that first night. I could see her working out how she would do it in her furry
little brain. What saved Bella was being left outside for a few weeks until
Sassy was more accustomed to her. But accustom doesn’t necessarily mean like.
Now, though, they will lie on the same bed and I watch Bella watching Sassy and
I know that she misses her tail. Then I see Sassy who without even opening her
eyes will deliberately flick her tail under Bella’s nose! To get her back
occasionally, as Sassy lays sleeping with her tail stretched out, Bella will
pounce on it and bite down. Then caterwauling ensues! And somewhere in the back
of my mind I hear the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz singing, “If I only