Good Things Come in Grey Packages

We’ve all heard someone say they didn’t adopt their pet; their pet adopted them. That is definitely true in our case and how Mickey Rooney came to be our cat.

My husband and I had seen the beautiful grey tabby wandering around our apartment complex from time to time, and he would let us pet him a little bit, but he never spent too much time with us. However, one night it was cold, windy, and drizzly outside, and we swore we heard a knock on the front door. We went to open it, and the cat walked right into our apartment as if he owned it himself. He laid down in the middle of the living room and proceeded to clean himself. As he was very skinny and dirty, I looked around the kitchen to see what we could feed him. All I had was a can of tuna. My husband cautioned giving it to the cat because he’d be hooked on the fishy food, but I couldn’t let him be hungry. He scarfed the tuna down quicker than you can spell C-A-T.

The next thing I knew, I was on the way to the pet store to buy cat food and a litter box. I got back home, and right after I set up the litter box, food, and water dish, he performed a trick. The cat stretched out his long body, keeping his back feet on the ground and front paws on the front door. He then started bouncing and pounding his front feet on the door to get out. It answered the question of why we had heard a knocking sound earlier when he wanted to come in! I didn’t want to let him out, but he was so persistent, we did. He ran outside, and I followed him. He ran right to a dirt patch, went to the bathroom, and then turned around and went back to our apartment. We realized then that we had a pretty awesome cat come into our lives. Still, we wanted to make sure he didn’t belong to anybody else before becoming his cat parents.

Asking around our apartment complex yielded no results on who the cat might belong to. We took the cat to the vet to see if he had a chip. When the technician was scanning him with the wand, I told him to sit still; he was being “cat scanned.” I could tell by the look on his soft, furry face he appreciated the joke. When the technician told us he didn’t have a chip, I picked up his paw, and we did a “high five,” well, hand to paw, so I supposed it was a “high four” for him. The vet told us he was neutered and wasn’t acting completely feral, so he likely had a home at one time, and either got lost or left behind when somebody moved. It’s hard to believe anyone would ever abandon a pet, but we know it does happen.

After we got him home, we went to work on a name for our newfound pet. My husband and I couldn’t agree on a name we both liked. I finally said in frustration, “Why don’t we just call him Michelob?” Since it was funny, we agreed, but it never really suited him and didn’t stick, so we shortened it to “Mickey.” Somehow over time, that changed again to “Mickey Rooney,” and I’m not sure how or why. Maybe because he’s a pretty comical feline and keeps us laughing. My husband is a drummer, and there is nothing Mickey Rooney likes more than playing with the drumsticks. And, as predicted by my husband, the cat has a fondness for tuna that surpasses any other food. He won’t even eat different food. I like to remind Mickey that he used to dig in the trash to find dinner; he shouldn’t be so picky. But he’s decided his meal must only be tuna, and nothing can persuade him otherwise. Unlike the diminutive actor, Mickey Rooney, who stood only 5’ 2,” our Mickey Rooney is long from tip of tail to tip of an ear. He’s about 34” in length. If the Mickster is standing on his back paws and putting his front paws on my hip, which he frequently does, his head is at my waist level. He weighs in at seventeen pounds but is very lean and muscular.

Despite the strict food demands we receive from him, he is the most loving, sweet cat I have ever met. He loves to sit with us and purr as we rub his back or ears. He’ll give us little licks on the finger and never swats or bites us. At night, when we say, “Let’s go to bed,” he rushes in and jumps up on the bed, ready to sleep. He does like to wake us up early to get his breakfast tuna, but it’s okay; he’s worth it.