Floyd and his new family..
” By the time I saw the call for help on Facebook, someone else had already headed out late at night with a cat carrier to rescue the tiny orange and white kitten that had been dumped on the road in Ronceverte.
The little boy the rescuers named Floyd was in bad shape, with puncture wounds and covered in fleas and flies and maggots. His rescuers took him to Country Roads Rescue where the wonderful folks flea dipped him and picked fleas and maggots off his severely dehydrated body. While they worked, the tiny orange and white boy purred, grateful for kind hands, food, and water.
Later the folks at the vet’s office treated the puncture wounds on his hind legs and an ear mite infection. Before too long Floyd was recovering and ready for a new home.
Since that first night when Floyd was found in the road, I’d been following his progress. I donated a little bit of money to help with his vet bills and read the updates posted on the Country Roads Rescue Facebook page. He was adorable; I was sure he would quickly find a new home. Still, I told Courtney and Val at Country Roads that I would take him if no one else did. I don’t think they thought I was serious.
And, honestly, the last thing I needed was a kitten. I already had Presby, the kitty I found living under the Presbyterian thrift store on Court Street a few winters back. And Daisy, the old beagle who was rescued from a meth house near Charleston about eight years ago. And the two one-year old puppies, Honey and Tyson, who were born to a little dog my neighbor had fostered for another rescue. We literally had a house full.
But Floyd stuck with me. I checked up on him when I saw Val and Courtney. I watched for updates on Facebook. One day they took my offer to adopt him seriously. No one else had been willing to give the sweet boy a home.
So, one Friday night when he was about three months old, they brought him over for a “trial” visit. The puppies, of course, were overly excited, loud and obnoxious, chasing Floyd through the house. But little Mr. Floyd was not intimidated. He went to the bedroom, hopped in their crate and stretched out on a pillow. He had found his spot, and he was not leaving.
That first night he snuggled with me on the couch, getting up repeatedly to change the radio from NPR to a country station. I’m not kidding; he did it four times. I’d been thinking about changing his name, but it seemed Floyd might just fit my little country music fan.
So, Floyd he is. He is also leggy and goofy and completely full of himself. His scars that I thought would always be visible are now covered by a thick, soft coat. He stalks the deer behind the house and speeds up fence posts and trees just because he can. He loves catnip on his scratcher and rubs under his chin. He demands treats any time the pups get them. He gives delicate nose kisses indiscriminately to his person, his puppies, and his kitty. He sleeps nestled in the hollow behind my knee or spooned against my back.
Honey, the smallest of the two puppies, clearly thinks I got Floyd for her. They chase and play with stuffed toys. Floyd crawls on top of Honey and sits draped over her head or lies stretched across her back. Honey adores him. The other two dogs are pretty crazy about him too, and I caught the old cat snuggled up next to Floyd in bed one morning.
Floyd has been part of our family since that first night he came to visit. The only real problem is that now Tyson wants a puppy. “
– Sara Crickenberger