Origin Stories: Elroy

All good mythologies (whether true or not--but in this case, they are) need their origin stories.  All of our kitties' origins are completely different (with the exception of Otto and Wanda), and some are more interesting than others.  Elroy, however, deserves a special post about his.

I've already told you a little about Elroy, and how he's the most ever-loving happy cat I've ever seen in my life.  What I didn't mention before is that, up until just about four years ago, Elroy had very little to be happy about.  Elroy was an outside kitty when we were living in North Charleston, SC--one of a dozen or so feral cats in a colony in an alley that we took upon ourselves to feed and water.  Every now and again, one of those wild cats would decide to trust us, and we would form a strong bond with him or her.  As many as we could, we found loving homes for.  The ones we couldn't find homes for we trapped, got them their shots, neutered, and released them.  Elroy was not initially one of those cats that trusted us.  Elroy was extremely skittish, and refused to let us pet him, or even touch him.  The experience of our trapping him to get him neutered was both painful and terrifying for him. 

But as a youngster, Elroy was bestest, bestest buddies (are you noticing a trend yet?) with another tuxedo cat named Leon, who was (and still is) very, very dear to us.  Leon will someday get his own post, and deserves many, but today is not that day.  Elroy followed Leon around like a little puppy, jumping all over him and playing with him affectionately, and Leon, who was quite a bit older, just patiently accepted his attention. 

Meanwhile, slowly but surely, Sean was gaining Elroy's trust.  We had a family of raccoons that lived in a tree behind our house, and they would often scare off the cats from the alley.  Raccoons are smart, and they can be intimidating.  So Elroy, always a lover rather than a fighter, would go hungry rather than confront them.  So Sean concocted a brilliant, though time-consuming plan:  late at night, when the raccoons came out to eat, Sean would sit at the top of the garage stairs, where the food bowls were, and shake his keys at them to keep them at bay.  That way, Elroy and the more timid cats could skirt by him, eat their fill, and make their getaway without ever having to have a single confrontation with the raccoons.  Sean would tirelessly stand guard over those cats so they could eat.  Then around 12:30 or 1:00 in the morning, Sean would come in and the raccoons would eat the remains of the food.  This went on for months.  And still, Elroy would not let us pet him.

But slowly, all of Elroy's friends were disappearing on him.  He lost Leon, then Mini-Me (another younger tuxedo cat) disappeared.  His friend Lola would show up, then disappear for months at a stretch.  (We secretly believed that Elroy was Leon and Lola's love child.)  And slowly and sadly, the most social, loving cat on earth was running out of friends to love.

Then one day, a day or so before Thanksgiving in 2006, a miraculous thing happened.  Elroy walked onto our back porch, with Sean standing there, and said, in true Elroy fashion, in that inquisitive manner of his:  "peep?"  So Sean reached out and touched him, and then pet him.  And later that day, I pet him too.  Sean made a little bed for him on the back porch, then when we'd earned some more trust, we took him up to the room over the garage and I slept with him for a few weeks.  Then, slowly and methodically, we introduced him to the rest of the family.  Elroy finally had a whole group of cats to love and play with, and a couple of people to boot!  It was the beginning (or perhaps middle?) of a beautiful friendship.

And the rest, as they say, is history...