I wish I had a digital picture to share of my three-legged orange tabby cat Olee because she was quite a kitty. She came into my life in the summer of 1992 as a please-don’t-break-up-with-me-because-you-are-going-away-to-college present from my then boyfriend.
Right from the start Olee was an itty bitty kitty with a big attitude. When she was about three months old, on the day that I was packing up my grandpa’s pick-up truck to head to my first day of college, she came out of the field next to the house dragging her back-end behind her. Upon closer examination I discovered that one of her back legs was torn up and bloody. She had been caught by a mower.
My dad offered to “take care of her,” and for those of you who grew up or live in the country, you know what that means. On the farm animals may be pets but they aren’t necessarily something one gets attached to because unforeseen things can and do happen all the time. I balked at Dad’s offer and instead put moving day on hold for a few hours and called my local veterinarian.
A couple of hours and a consultation later it was decided: Olee’s leg was torn up too badly to save. Unless I wanted to take Dad up on his offer, her leg would have to be amputated.
And so Olee became a terror on three legs. We called her “Hop Along Cassidy” and “Tripod.” She stayed at home while I was away at college and became Mom’s baby. Although we tried to keep her inside, she would not be confined. She moved to town with Mom after her divorce from my dad and loved to climb the trees in her new front yard. Soon after the move, the little three-legged fiend caught a bird in one of the neighbor’s trees and was thereafter considered a menace to the neighborhood. Olee bullied my mom’s other cats into submission and was undoubtedly the three-legged, four-pound queen of the house.
Sadly age began to catch up with Olee and her health started to decline. She had a stroke over the weekend and this afternoon she crossed over The Rainbow Bridge. Rest in peace Olee. You will be missed.