Handicaps

There's a heartwarming story over at zootoo.com: 'Hind' Over Matter:Paraplegic Cat Learns to Walk.  It's amazing how readily animals will adapt to situations that could traumatize a human.  I suspect many of us would consider losing a limb, a hand or a foot, or an eye to be a life-altering event.  (I know I certainly would!)  We consider our intelligence to be superior to that of our four-legged companions, yet they are often far superior to us when it comes to adjusting to life with a physical handicap.  Maybe it's because humans know what "should" be, while they exist in a world of what is.  Whether or not they are able to comprehend just what it is that makes a handicapped creature different from others of their kind, I have no idea; that's a question better left to scientists and animal behaviorists.  I can tell you that I have yet to encounter a handicapped, but otherwise healthy, creature that behaves as if it is wallowing in self-pity.  Instead, they just adapt and get on with it.

Why do I say this?  Experience.  See, over the years, we've had a number of handicapped cats: Edward, who'd been injured before we adopted him and had to have a badly infected rear leg amputated after the shredded ligaments refused to heal . . . Gabby, who came to us with half of her front paw missing . . . Butterscotch, who lost an eye to glaucoma . . . T.C., who'd been hit by a car and had a hind leg that would no longer bend after the shattered knee joint fused  . . . Charm, born with skeletal and joint deformities that might've prevented her from ever walking.  (She walks, runs, and navigates stairs quite nicely all on her own, thank you.  She also bosses her humans around - and is damned good at it too!)  None of them let their handicap be a handicap, if you understand what I mean.  Edward could get from one end of the house to the other faster than I could.  That missing leg kept him from jumping up onto the kitchen counters, but that was about it.  (Put a chair next to the cabinet, though, and he was up there in a flash.)  Gabby never noticed that she only had half of a front paw with which to grab food off of my plate; she only knew that she could do it.  And Butterscotch and T.C. kept right on doing what any "normal" cat would do.

Charm's the only one who can't quite do everything the others can - but that's why she keeps us around!  She tells us when she wants up on the sofa or the bed, or onto the ledge of an open window so she can sun herself and enjoy a warm breeze . . . in winter she leads me to the fireplace and lets me know she wants up in her chair (which used to be mine until she appropriated it grumble grumble) . . . she calls for us to carry her up the stairs if she doesn't feel like climbing them herself.  And climb them she can, make no mistake about that!  Her back legs may not work quite right, but her front legs and chest muscles are damned strong and give her an advantage over the others at times.  They also come in handy when it comes to bullying and intimidating the dogs.  They may be much larger than she is, but they fear her - and have somehow never even noticed that the soft little paws she smacks them with have no razor blades in them!