Little Buddy

Little Buddy was a feral cat living and surviving on the streets in Jacksonville, FL. His diet consisted of lizards and leftovers from trash cans; if he were lucky, neighbors with a heart for outdoor cats would occasionally put out dry food. He was grateful for summer rains which provided puddles for drinking. I was one of those neighbors with a heart that would put out food and water, and Little Buddy became a regular to the front porch, patiently waiting for a handout.

I began to look for him every day, and he also began to recognize when my car would turn into the driveway and would greet me primarily because he knew the food would soon follow. Regardless of his motive, I admired his survival skills and became accustomed to his routine. He still maintained his street status, but he was now becoming my cat.

Because of my kindness in feeding him, Little Buddy had begun to feel too comfortable crossing the busy street, which was likely why he got hit by a car on an April evening around sundown. My husband heard tires screeching from inside the house and went out to investigate. A vehicle was stopped on the street. The driver, a young man, was delivering a pizza in the area, focusing on finding an address. He told my husband he felt confident he hit a whitish cat, but no injured cat was seen or found.

The only evidence that contact had been made was a dark stain of blood left behind on the asphalt. When Little Buddy did not come around the next day or the day after that for his food, we knew that he was the cat that had been hit. As more days went by with no appearance, we reconciled our sadness, believing that he had gone to a quiet, dark place to be alone and die.

It was five days before he returned, and his condition was not good when he did. The impact of the car had torn his back leg away from his pelvis, and necrosis of the muscle tissue and skin was already in progress. He was thirsty and had the look of “help me, I’m dying” in his eyes. My husband managed to get him into a box and rushed him to the vet. The vet said he would try to save the leg, but it was impossible because too much time had passed, and Little Buddy’s leg was amputated.

A few days later, we picked him up. He returned with only three legs and a long row of stitches to keep clean, but his eyes now seemed to say, “I’ll do whatever it takes to get better.” The recovery period took over three months, and it was during one of his wellness checks that we discovered the reason for the stitches taking so long to heal – he had Feline Immunodeficiency Virus, commonly referred to as FIV.

The FIV probably caused the blindness in his left eye and was likely the reason he did not see the car in time to hurry out of the way. Once Little Buddy healed, he had to learn to walk on three legs instead of four. He is so cute, hopping around the house like a rabbit. Given his weakened immune system, only one good eye, and three legs, we could not put him back out on the street, and Little Buddy officially became our cat.

Little Buddy had a hard life on the streets. Because his outdoor diet was not so great, he had tooth decay and gum infections, so all his teeth, except a few, have been extracted. He has trust issues with people other than me and my husband and likely would not live long if his nutrition and health were not closely monitored. The impact of the car eventually caused the eye to have to be removed.

Little Buddy’s ordeal taught us something – it taught us that love comes in many forms, some of them ugly and requiring patience and work. He has likely used up more than nine lives, but he now has a comfortable life indoors, soft food on demand, and is around other cats and two gentle and kind humans who love him unconditionally. And, once we finally got the dirt cleaned away, we discovered that Little Buddy is a beautiful flame point Siamese.