found a new home!
Plenty of my friends are looking
for one too. Find a pet to adopt.
I am already neutered, a special needs pet, up to date with shots, and not good with cats.
Anyway, one particularly cold night in January, I stumbled upon a cabin with a nice porch where I decided I was going to try to warm my bones before setting out on my morning hunt. When the sun came up, a giant hooman came out of the cabin! At first I was scared because he looked kind of like a yeti, but when I smelled the sardines he had set out on the porch, I just couldn't resist. His name was John Candy and he became my best pal. (I know what you're thinking, and no, it's not the same John Candy.) People called him John Candy because he REALLY loved candy. I mean, LOVED it; I'm talking jelly beans and gummy bears for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a snack! Sadly, his sugar intake was so high that it began to affect his brain. He started feeding me Swedish fish instead of sardines. He stopped using kindling to build fires; pelting fireballs at the stack of wood instead, insisting it would eventually ignite. When he started replacing the logs and chinking in his cabin with gingerbread and frosting, I knew he was too far gone to ever recover from this terrible sugar sickness.
And so, malnourished, with the taste of Swedish fish still lingering on my tongue, I said goodbye and reluctantly left my best friend, heading back into the wilderness in search of a hearty meal of mice, kale, and quinoa. Luckily, I found a colony of hipsters living nearby who were able to accommodate. To my amazement, that's where I also found my family! They had been living right next door listening to indie music and growing mustaches the entire time! I stayed with them for a while, until I could no longer stand the irony - or the toof aches.
The years of eating a candy-only diet had caused irreversible damage to my teefs and, one by one, they all rotted in my gums. So I did what any wise mountain cat would do and tried to find a dentist. Unfortunately, I found myself lured into a trap by the nostalgic and wonderful smell of sardines instead.
I was taken to Big Bear Animal Shelter. Because my teefs were so bad, I was in a lot of pain and the hoomans kept saying I was going to be "put to sleep" if no one came for me. They tried calling John Candy, but a relative answered instead, saying that John had choked on a gobstopper and died. Poor John. I was so tired, but my teef hurt so bad I couldn't sleep, and no one was coming for me. Going to sleep sure did sound good right about then.
When it was my turn, I was put in a strange plastic hut and eventually taken to a cold room. A tall hooman in a white coat - WAS IT A YETI? - came into the room and petted me before everything went dark...
When I woke up, I felt pretty confused and my mouth was numb, but I felt refreshed and hopeful for the first time in a long time. I also realized that the hoomans HAD STOLEN ALL OF MY TEEFERS. (Probably sold and made into a necklace by the hipsters.) I was eventually taken to a new home where I was given all the medicine and pets I needed to feel better. They named me Gummy Bear on account of my oral handicap and mountain heritage, but I like it because it reminds me of my first hooman friend, John. May he rest in Reese's Pieces.
I love my new home and my new family, and they love me! But I can't stay here forever because there are other kitties with bad teefs that need their help. I know I'm no "spring chicken," but I'm a Gummy Bear and that's even better! After my time at the hipster cat camp, I've decided I don't really enjoy the company of other cats as much as I enjoy snuggling up with a warm human by a warm fireball. So, please, visit www.KittyDevoreRescue.org to fill out an adoption application and pick me to be your furever furbaby and I will love you with all my heart, and with as much tenderness as the gums where my teefers used to be!