There are many intelligent creatures in the universe and they are all owned by cats.
~Author Unknown
Petey first came into the clinic where I work as a vet tech for a “sick kitty appointment.” His orange-and-white coat was very thin and had black flakes like he was flea-bitten — but he had no fleas. He was emaciated and his eyes were slightly sunken. The tests showed he had developed diabetes and had other issues.
A new family member — a firstborn human baby sister — had recently been introduced to his household, and Petey had gone on a hunger strike. He was fading day by day. He had lost five pounds from his twelve-pound body. His owners were frantic. They had tried everything.
Days later, I looked at the schedule for the next day of appointments. I saw Petey’s name in purple. Purple in our clinic means euthanasia. My heart sank. That night I was unable to sleep; I woke my husband begging to keep him. My husband pointed out the obvious: we had two big dogs and that wouldn’t be a good environment for Petey to rest and recover.
I went to work the next day with a heavy heart. Around lunchtime, I finally broke down and told my co-workers what was on my mind. They all agreed with my plan. I called Petey’s owner and asked her if she would surrender him to me.
Luckily, his owner answered the phone and was elated at the call. There might be hope for Petey! His mother of nine years had been weeping for days and seeking solutions for months. I could tell that she was grief-stricken and just didn’t know what to do. I also knew that I could help, and that this kitty still had a future.
The first step in Petey’s recovery was to keep him at the hospital for a few weeks. I had to get his insulin regulated if he had any hope of being adoptable. I was basically stalling while getting the word out to clients about him.
After a while, I got tired of seeing Petey caged up. One of my co-workers let him out one day, but we all knew that the boss would probably not be okay with another clinic cat. We already had one who lived there full-time. Nevertheless, we let Petey stroll around, and my twenty co-workers and I acted as if nothing was different. We made no effort to point him out to our employer, Dr. Greg. We pretended the cat was invisible. Dr. Greg said nothing, and we did not ask what he was thinking.
Petey was in heaven! He quickly showed us “The True Petey.” We discovered he liked to crawl up and knead, suckle, and purr on the shoulders of staffers. He didn’t discriminate. He would happily accept head rubs and treats from anyone. He did not even mind big, slobbery dogs, as long as they kept their distance.
Somehow, it became a done deal. Petey became our second official clinic cat. In his former life, he was a house cat who had never encountered other animals, especially dogs. Now they are a regular part of his day as he supervises the entrance of a large veterinary practice with five doctors and many furry visitors.
Patients and their humans enter into an expansive and open lobby with a wide, circular counter. Petey has a spot front and center, stretched out like a sunbather. Sometimes, he sits near the computer keyboard; other times, he hangs out near the waiting-room fireplace. You might find him dozing on the doctor’s desk or enjoying a snooze in the arms of staffers on break. He works the room, so to speak. Petey, who has been renamed “Pete,” particularly likes playing in his water bowl, scooping the liquid out with his paw and then licking it off. Pete also delights in splashing the toilet bowl water. You might find little paw prints on a wet seat — be warned.
Even though my fellow employees and I were silent about Pete’s presence, he did not go unnoticed. Within a month, twenty-five clients asked to adopt him. At that point, we were all in love with our new Allisonville Animal Hospital “Goodwill Ambassador.” Finally, I told all the staff that he would not be put up for adoption. Technically, he’s now my cat, though others claim him as “ours.”
Our other clinic cat, Joe, is around seventeen years old. Joe is a black shorthair. He keeps a low profile and mostly resides in a back office, looking out the window. He is very happy to greet strangers and request a scratch under the chin or behind the ear, but people must come to him — the opposite of Pete’s “in-your-face” approach as he patrols the hallways and common areas to make friends.
As for the boss, Dr. Greg, I had every hope he would fall for Pete like everyone else. It took about two-and-a-half weeks for him to finally acknowledge and agree that Pete is a part of the office management. The prodding of another vet, Dr. Ward, helped to move this along.
This white-and-orange wonder is petted by around thirty people a day. We have a “Donation for Pete” set up where clients read about his story and donate money for his special food and insulin. Pete’s rich already. He looks it, too. His hair has grown back, and his eyes are bright and eager with anticipation.
As for the previous owner, she follows me on all social media platforms and “likes” every picture and video of him that I post. She did reach out to me via text when this first happened and told me how appreciative she was for what I did. Pete inspires me, too. He has touched hundreds of hearts and given hope to other impaired animals and people, as he redefines his life and rises to his potential.
~Meredith Engerski
