The Homeless (From About.com)

I just read this story a few moment ago..I just feel that it is an interesting story about a homeless cat..A sad story for sure.. I had copying it and paste it here in, my Cat's Blog.. Hope the sweet Writer didn't mind it...

A story about one out of thousands...

The cat was seven years old, but looked older. His once-glossy golden coat was now the color of dirty straw, matted, oily, and dull. One ear drooped, and he flicked it impatiently as he intently watched the field mouse going about its business in the tall, dry grass.

Truman (for that was his name in years past, when a human had cared enough to name him) crouched low, wiggled his scarred rump imperceptibly, then leapt at his prey. The mouse squeaked and disappeared into a hole in the earth. Truman growled in disgust and turned back to the dusty road that bisected the fields of dry weeds.

As he trudged along, he quickened his pace at the sounds of a motor approaching. He wasn't quick enough though.

"Cat!" a young male voice shouted, as the muscle car veered toward him. A blinding flash of pain shot through Truman's lower half, as he flew through the air, landing several feet away. Liquid spattered his dirty coat as a half-full beer can was lobbed at him. Through pain-filled eyes, Truman watched the car race away, and his thoughts travelled back to the other young man, the one who had pleaded with his father, tears streaming down his face, to let Truman come with them when they moved.

Driven by hunger, Truman dragged himself upright, and limped along the road, intent on making his way back to the food place. The white-hot sun matched the pain in his hind quarters as he doggedly moved onward.

Hours later, he approached a copse of trees thick with underlying bushes. The other cats were already there, waiting patiently: a ragged tortoiseshell herded her two remaining kits into the shelter of a brambly bush; the old gray tom glared balefully at Truman, but let him pass. Two new refugees had appeared, both gray tabby toms - possibly brothers, from the looks of them.

At first glance, the clearing would have appeared empty, to human eyes. Each cat sought out its own hiding place, respecting the personal space of the others. It hadn't always been that way. Strange cats would appear from time-to-time and the self-appointed alpha cat would battle the latest interloper until one or the other ceded, sometimes through death. Truman had uncomfortable memories of his own acceptance into the colony, following a violent engagement with a one-eyed black cat. One-eye had eventually slunk away in defeat, but not before doing considerable damage to Truman's ear, and to his pride.

Today, Truman carefully averted his eyes while cutting a wide berth around the brush where the two tabbies lay. He found an unclaimed spot in the shrubs about fifteen feet away, gave his matted fur a few swipes with his tongue, then crouched and expectantly watched the road

At length, the sound of an approaching car engine growled, then stopped abruptly. Two women alighted from their dusty car, arms full of bags of (food!) paper plates, bowls, and canteens of cool, clean water.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitties," they softly called. "Here Micha...Ran-deee...Momma Kitteee... here's dinner, darlings."

"Oh, we have new ones! Look at those two big tabby guys, Eileen. Did you see Sunny, yet?"

One by one, the cats slunk out of their hiding places and hungrily approached the plates filled with a mixture of dry and wet food. The tortie, whom the women called, "Autumn," daintily nibbled while her kittens fought to nurse her.

Truman observed from a distance, his empty stomach growling, until his hunger won over, and he limped over to a plate of food, bowed by the weight of starvation.

"Oh look -- there's Sunny! He's back!"

"Oh, he's injured. Did you see him limping? We've got to get that big boy to Dr. Evans!"

The cats continued eating while the two women busied themselves with a box hidden away in some shrubbery several yards away. Finally, satisfied with whatever they were doing, they returned to their car and sat inside, sipping coffee from paper cups and talking quietly.

A couple of hours later, Truman awoke with renewed appetite. He dragged himself to the food area and saw that the paper plates had been removed. He thirstily lapped water from the remaining bowl, when his nostrils lifted, picking up a strong, delicious scent of -- fish! The cat ignored the pain in his hip and followed the scent, gimping along on three legs. The odiferous trail led him to the back of a dark copse, where he found anchovies, a dimly remembered treat from his days with the boy. A cracking noise resounded, and Truman found himself -- trapped! He yowled in anger and frustration and threw himself against the walls of the box, until weakend and defeated, he slunk to a corner and crouched.

Soft voices comforted him, as he felt the box moving gently, then heard a door slam.

After an hour or more of jostling and bumping, Truman found himself on a shiny table in a room with soft peach-colored walls. He glared balefully at the man who was gently manuevering his back legs. One of the women held his front legs securely, while scratching between his ears, while she talked to the doctor.

"I don't know, Susie. This leg will have to be pinned, and there are no guarantees. It might be kinder to just euthanize this one. He's probably too old to be adopted and with a gimpy leg, he won't have much of a chance to defend himself out there."

"Pin the leg, Doc. There's something special about this little guy. I'm going to keep him for myself. I have a feeling about him."

As the veterinarian busied himself with a needle, Truman was startled to recognize the sound of his own purring, a long-forgotten sensation.

Truman was going home.