Misery Moo

Meet Moo Moo:

That's Misery Moo to you.

Misery Moo has been a part of our family since before my husband and I were married. He came with the cat.

Moo Moo's story is the story of legends. Over the past 14/15 years, the story has changed perhaps, possibly been embelished. But you know how legends are. They grow and change with the years. The following is the quick and dirty version of Moo's story, told to the best of my knowledge.

It was a dark and stormy night (it had to start that way, of course). My soon-to-be step daughter was a college student home for the summer. Doin' what all cool college students do - hanging out in the anyone-that's-cool-hangs-out-here place. She and some friends.

Now, to understand this story, it is imperative that you have some background on the family genetics. We (my husband's side of the family is worse than my side, which is bad enough on it's own) have this genetic defect. We lose all self-control when it comes to animals. We have this passion, this soft spot, this OBSESSION with animals. We love them. Good or bad. Weird or wonderful. We love them all.

Back to Moo and my stepdaughter. There she is, "hanging out" when a crowd drew her attention.

What was at the center of this attention you ask?

It was a 3 week old orphaned kitten.

Where was the mother, you ask?

The mother was dead - dead of an acid overdose or some other illegal drug.

What about the litter mates, you ask? Where were they? Had this sweet kitten no other family?

Dead. Killed in a flood. Abandoned, forlorn, and scared, they were huddled underneath a porch. A porch connected to a house on the riverbank. The waters rose up quickly, and only one kitten was saved. Misery Moo.

My stepdaughter with her genetic code that insisted upon immediate rescue and action begged the hippies to give her the kitten.

"I'll take care of her. I'll feed her and love her and never abandon her."

They consented. I'm sure, relieved of what they felt was a burden. Cute. But a burden all the same.

My dear step-daughter took the 3 week old kitten home and bottle fed her. She nursed her, loved her, and promised to care for her till forever.

Well, step-daughter did what all kids that age must do - they go off to college. Oh, don't get me wrong. She still loved MooMoo, but somehow over time, the bond became less. When she finished with school, MooMoo stayed with us and step-daughter got a Rottweiller. Now, 14-15 years later, you probably couldn't pay her to take this cat.

Know why?

Misery Moo has drug flashbacks. Hallucinations. Poor kitty. Guess the mom wasn't the only one who had been fed some illegal drugs.

She is a cat with a story and a past. But, we love her. No one else would... or could. But we do. We love our Misery Moo.

And you guessed it. Her name is Misery, because her life was so miserable before she became a part of ours.

Just look at those eyes......

See why we tell you "Don't Pet the Kitty?"