Clark Gable, by Benjamin Taylor.
Clark Gable (Clarkie, the Clarkster, Sir Clarke et al) came into my life in the summer of 2005. My family and I had never owned a cat nor considered doing so — we were strictly “dog people,” though at heart we were all just animal people. At the time, we owned a German Shepherd, who, while extremely gentle, had clearly taken over the title of master of the house from our late beagle. One afternoon, we heard a vehement burst of meowing from outside our back door. We live in a very residential neighborhood where a cat getting loose or just wandering wasn’t unheard of, and we didn’t pay any mind to this extremely vocal little guy.
At least, we didn’t until the next morning. And the morning after that. Clarkie sat outside our back door for two days straight, and made it clear the entire time that he wasn’t going away until we let him in, proving to us he at least had strong enough lungs to demand entrance for 48 hours straight. Eventually we set out some food and water for him, and, of course, that was that. He marched right in, went straight up to our dog, nuzzled him without a hint of fear and — in doing so — assumed the ownership of the place.
As he was neutered and front-declawed, we assiduously tried to find his previous owner, but to no avail. Now, it’s no secret that cats can be messy, but Clarkie had digestive issues and was probably messier than most. We came to presume that his previous owner had abandoned him rather than make the investments we did in paper towels, carpet cleaning, etc. Cat owners know that of which I write. So, Clarkie came to rule the roost and did for eight-plus great years. He became my best friend, my late-night companion, who perked up when I woke up, nuzzled me, kissed me (while I mouth-breathed), would stroke my face with his paws.
Dear Clarkie passed away a few weeks ago; his digestive issues caught up to him, and the choice was the hard one or to have him endure surgery and the rest of his life with a colostomy bag. I chose the less hard one, and his ashes rest with those of his canine brother. Yet he remains the cat who chose us and who would not be refused.
Simba the Tornado Cat, summarized from CNH1 News Service
Simba and his family hunkered down in the basement to wait out a powerful tornado, but during the mayhem, Simba ran from the safe haven and disappeared. The storm was huge, killing 158 people and destroying 7,500 homes. The Kent family house was also destroyed, and they had to move. But not before they searched in animal shelters and on the streets for their beloved cat. Simba was nowhere to be found, and surely dead.
One and half years later, Jan Kent and her family went back to the old neighborhood to walk around. Suddenly a cat that looked like Simba appeared. Jan called, “Simba!” He trotted over, recognizable by the permanent nick in his ear. It was a miracle. How had he made it through the storm? Where had he been since then? This will remain a mystery. But there is one thing they are sure of. “We knew he was a survivor.”
Gar the Bilingual Cat, by Maxemillian
Gar was a Blue Point Siamese, from a litter of champion parents in Amsterdam. He lived with us in a town called Breukelen in Holland, on a canal there, and often boats moored along the edge. Gar and my husband had a special bond. In the evening my husband would read the newspaper while lying in bed, and Gar would jump on his chest and then push his head under the newspaper to get some attention. It was a game they played nightly. One evening Gar didn’t come home. I searched high and low: in ditches, gawking at cat road kill, telling every vet in the village that the cat was gone, and to keep a lookout if a stray was brought in.
Seven years passed.
Then one day I was on my bike with my child in the basket in front and, rounding a corner by the library, which was being remodeled, I saw a flash of gray. My first thought was: Gar! Our house was being remodeled at the time of Gar’s disappearance. I was sure Gar thought that this was his old house. People told me that this was the cat had jumped off a sailboat at the north end of the village a few weeks before. The boat was being sailed by Germans and they were very upset at losing their cat. They searched and stayed moored longer but could not find the missing cat.
He didn’t struggle when I picked him up and that’s when I knew it had to be my Gar. Once home he inspected the remodeled house. One place he did know was the windowsill in the old baby room. He lay down there and went to sleep. My husband did not believe that that the cat was Gar. But that night he lay down in bed, placed the pillow behind his head, pulled the covers up to his armpits and, reaching over, picked up the paper and snapped it open to read. In a flash, the cat, from the window sill in another room, entered the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and took up his place on the chest, pushing his head under the newspaper. The husband was an instant believer. My theory is that he left years before on a ferry or a boat on the canal and ended up in Germany because he responded to basic German commands. Maybe it was the boat he seems to have returned on. He never strayed again.
amazing lost cat story.
Turbo the Cat, by WPMT Fox 43 news
A cat likely used a few of its nine lives making a trip from the East Shore to the West Shore in the engine of a car. On Tuesday, a Dauphin County man was getting ready to go to work when he heard a cat inside his car. He popped the hood and tried to get the animal out, but it wouldn’t budge. Assuming the cat got out on its own, he drove to work, then once again heard the animal.
A veterinarian was called to help rescue the cat now named Turbo.
Turbo suffered a burn on his belly, several cuts, and his ear had to be reconstructed.
His stitches will be removed Wednesday and he will then be available for adoption into a forever family.