SONY DSCWhen I first saw Prometheus sitting in his cage at the START II shelter, I knew he was special.  He was rescued out of a high kill shelter in Passaic county.  If START II waited two more days to pick him up, Prometheus would have been euthanized.

I met Promethe

us the

week b

efore H


ane Sandy hit the east coast.  He was sleeping in his bed.  When I opened the door, his head started to twitch and he stretched his legs.  I noticed when I was petting Prometheus, his hind quarters kept flopping over.  At first I thought he was still sleepy or overly happy.  Then I made him walk across the floor in the kitchen.  Prometheus’ walk was very wobbly, like he was drunk.


During this time, Ron and I were at the shelter every evening working with Boots.  I introduced him to Prometheus (then Tango).  They hit it off immediately.  Prometheus flopped in Ron’s lap and started playing with the strings of his sweatshirt.

I asked volunteers I worked with their opinion of Prometheus’ condition.  They said it looked like a mild case of cerebellar hypoplasia.  The general consensus was that Prometheus would have a difficult time getting adopted because the neurological condition usually freaks people out.  In the past, cerebellar hypoplasia cats usually stayed at the shelter twice as long as normal cats.  I felt so bad for him.  So did Ron.  We decided to adopt him.

Prometheus’ first night in our apartment was funny.  He discovered a real scratching post, catnip, and was on toy overload.  It took a little time, but he finally realized what his bed was for.  All he wanted to do was play.  While he was segregated from our other cats for a few days, he cried to play with his new brothers and sisters.

Our primary veterinarian looked him over.  Doctor T. confirmed he did have cerebellar hypoplasia.  He also confirmed Prometheus had giardia and ringworm.  So, he had to be quarantined even longer.  Prometheus was not happy with this.

While Prometheus was a trooper taking his meds, that pesky quarantine had him crazy.  During the day while Ron and I were at work, Prometheus would trash his room.  One evening, I opened the door to his room to feed him.  Pieces of long cardboard blocked the door, creating a small “v” shaped hole at the bottom near the floor.  Computer wires were all over the room.  Items from my desk, tossed about.  In the few seconds I was taking the scene in, Prometheus ran through the small hole, his backside miscommunicating with his brain, and let out a huge battle cry.  He ran past me and then smacked every cat he came across until he hid under the bed where we couldn’t reach him.  Eventually, we caught him and put him back into quarantine.

Prometheus is very special to us.  He’s our special little cookie.  Though he has a disability, he doesn’t know he’s disabled.



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