Like all of our furballs in our family, Rocky has had some rough times. Rocky came to us as Missy. Missy was a mighty little thing, with the softest long tortoiseshell fur, and a little bunny stub of a tail (Manx by breed). At 6 months old, Missy went in for "the" operation.
Larry got the call, "Um, Mr. Naessens". Alarms go off. "There's been, um... there's something we need to tell you. You see, when we started operating on Missy, we couldn't find any girl parts. Missy only has boy parts. Do you still want him to have his operation?"
Well, one could ask, didn't anyone check out under the hood first? On any previous occasion that he had been to the vet, didn't anyone notice? Apparently not. At least they only charged us for one operation.
Anyway, poor Missy went in as a girl, and came out as a boy. No big deal perhaps. But poor Missy had 2 operations - he could neither lay down, nor sit for a while. Also, he no longer suited "Missy", so we renamed him Rocky.
When we did the research on Manx cats before we got him, we found out that Manxes were very adept at heights, and would often be at the highest point in the room. Not our Rock. We found out that Manxes were very clever. Not our Rock. But he has personality and attitude. Lots of it.
Rocky has the most luxurious fur. But he hates to be touched. He will tolerate it when he's eating, or sleeping. But then only for a few moments. Don't overdo it. It's his burden in life, to be so soft. People love to touch him. He hates to be touched. You can see his body just arch away from your hand. I've even seen him try to get out of the wind when it ruffles his fur. We call him our "rainman kitty".
Despite this, he's been seen letting toddlers touch him. Not a peep, not a cringe. Patient. Gentle. When the neighbour's bunny escaped, he was seen playing with the bunny - not hunting - it was a kind of hide and seek game. He would hunt mice though, and bring them back to our dog (at the time a rambunctious lab named Congo). He would drop a mouse, on more than one occasion... like a peace offering, at Congo's feet, who would proceed to take the injured animal and run with it. Ahh, such fun.
He's an indoor kitty now. He's learning what indoor cats do from Petey, our other cat. Petey has taught him what you do when you're inside all the time - you watch the fish on interactive kittie TV (aka the aquarium), you "hunt" and carry around twist ties as if they were mice, and you watch the goings on outside from the back of the livingroom couch. You also spend time lying on a warm stereo receiver with vents on the top, just like in the picture.
Now you know about Rocky and also his Worst Day Ever. And he's our last furball to meet, but this won't be the last word on furballs. I have plenty of stories to share, so stay tuned.