By Mary K. Hamner
Journal Correspondent

I didn't really want a cat. When this creature from somewhere out there appeared on my front porch looking as if it would take its last breath any minute, I looked the other way as long as I could. An egg was all I could think of that might be suitable food for a cat so finally I forged ahead, took that step, that commitment, and scrambled him up one.

It's not that I don't like animals, it's just that I have learned that I can have a relationship with other people's pets without having all the responsibility that is involved. I can say hello to Fido down the road and then be happy that he doesn't hang around my place to dig holes in the flowerbeds. I can admire black Sambo, also down the road, without having his fur spread around my place to make me sneeze.

So the cat had managed to get his foot, not in the house, but in the garage. Indications were, up front, that he didn't like scrambled eggs, so I stocked up on a "small" bag of cat food. I still had this vision of the cat returning to wherever it was he originated from.

But he stayed.

Some adjustments had to be made to accommodate this creature from outer space. He wanted to go walking with me and I had to make a couple of loops around the house to lose him. Then I marked his location by his mournful yowls as he mourned his chance to get killed by a car on the road. I bought a larger bag of cat food, another brand that he seemed to like better. And family began to ask about his name.

I had still not firmed in to naming, making permanent, residence of the cat when something happened to cause me to rethink his worth. It was a murder of the best kind! A rat or what was left of one of the biggest I've ever seen was lying next to the cat's bowl at his early morning feeding. So, Rat Killer Fluff is his name, I call him R.K for short.

What else could you name a cat with a ball of fur at the place where his tail should have been? I also learned that a cat needs a name when he makes his initial trip to the veterinarian.

I have made so many mistakes as a novice cat owner. The trip to the vet required a cat carrier. I bought a small inexpensive one that is a problem now that RK has grown. I could but wonder about what had happened to the guy's tail until the Vet told me that he is Manx: Kayt Manninagh or Stubbin, a breed of cat with a naturally occurring mutation of the spine. This mutation shortens the tail, resulting in a range of tail lengths from normal to tail-less. The Manx are said to be skilled hunters, known to take down larger prey even when they are young. Farmers with rodent problems often seek them. There are various legends that seek to explain why the Manx has no tail. The one I like is that Noah closed the door of the Ark when it began to rain and accidentally cut off the tail of the Manx cat who'd been playing and almost got left behind.

RK is changing my life. I knew he was roaming at night but his most recent escapade making necessary an emergency trip to the Vet to get his peeled leg sewn up was a strain. First I had to get him there in that too small cat carrier with the wimp yowling all the way. Then I had to deal with a drunken cat after the vet was finished and done with him. I now have to be home at the same time twice a day now to give RK his medication and in a couple of days now the bandage has to come off his leg. Must have been a really big rat he tangled with or maybe even a coyote. He even lost his flea collar in the fight.

Guess when you get adopted you deal with the consequences.

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