How Buck the Cat got his name and found a home

Since we moved back to the country almost 20 years ago, we've had dozens of cats. Started off after the first year when two barn cats gave us seven kittens. We've had many just wander up (we live where folks in town think is far enough out to dump unwanted pets). We stopped to pick up two really tiny abandoned kittens by the side of the back road to town; they're still with us. So you're how we are. Every pet is a big part of our family; every cat had a story. This Caturday, the most unusual story of how we got a cat.

We were on our way back from Chicago with our twin boys. Stopped at the rest area near Pontiac. When I came out of the men's room, I saw a big yellow long-tailed tom winding around my sons' legs and the boys begging to take him home with us.

First, this is no kitten; full-grown, even already snipped. I said, no, this belongs to somebody, maybe a nearby farm. I didn't really think so, but, second but not least, we had about 700 miles to go and riding with a stange cat that far did not seem to me to be the greatest of ideas, right? Much 'discussion' in which Dad was unyielding. When I said my final absolute no, it was as if the cat understood, and he began to walk away from us. He walked toward the parking lot, and my thought was, oh great, now I get to see him run down. He walked directly to an empty angled parking space, and sat down, looking at me. It looked to me like he was sitting on something, so, curiosity aroused, I walked over to see what. Two pieces of paper, a fiver, and a ten spot.

That's why we call him Buck.

When Fate is smacking you in the face, it's a good idea to pay attention. I'm pretty dull; takes a lot of smacking, but eventually I get the hint.

We stayed that night at the old HJ at Rolla, leaving the cat, with much trepidation, in the car. (He threw up on the ride. But he throws up on every ride to the vet, still.) In the morning, we opened the car door and he bolted out. Like a scene from a Carl Barks comic, the cat goes racing up the length of the parking lot, chased by our twins, chased by me, Mrs running behind. We got to the far edge of the parking lot. The cat races up the hill and under the barbed wire, where he stops, looking back from the edge of the woods. I command the boys to stop there, and walk back to me. That was a scary moment. If the cat ran off, we were responsible for transplanting him from maybe where he was somebody's pet to true abandonment. I told the boys, either he will come back or he won't, but we had to lead him. We all began walking back to the car, and he came right up alongside of us. He was ours! (Not to sound all animal-rightish, but really, we are each other's.)

Some cats wander and sometimes don't come back. Buck is never out of sight of the house. We've nursed him through a urinary tract infection that nearly killed him, and two bad instances of apparent brown recluse bites. He's one tough long-tailed Illinois tomcat. Loud, too, as he reminded me at 5:30 this morning; all orange cats seem to be. Buck's getting old, now, but he figured out how to get that way. Truly brilliant, and the only cat I ever knew to help pay his way.

They're telling me I'm late with the grub. Good morning!