My Name is Chai

Chai in a basket.

My name is Chai. Today I’m a bit wobbly from the drugs given to me yesterday while I had some dental work — the result of my past abuse. That drama kicked in my PTSD. There was no way that I would come out from under the bed when my hoomans brought me back home from the veterinarian clinic.

I have learned to live with pain in my mouth. Mouth pain was normal. You see, I had four teeth hiding fractures, and one broken completely with the root still there.

A few years ago when I, with my kittens, were found in a city back alley, my regal beauty had faded. The hoomans who found me, said I was — hmmmm, what’s the word for hungry —- oh yes, e-ma-ci-ated. Ants, bugs, and garbage that no respectable Siamese cat would ever eat, were my entrees back then.

You see, I’m a purebred seal point Siamese. Most of my story has been lost because I don’t speak Hooman, just Siamese. The mysteries of my early years were partially unraveled by yesterday’s x-rays of my mouth. My hooman asked the veterinarian’s assistant, “With that many fractured teeth, do you suppose Chai might have been kicked by somebody?” She asked that because I freak out and hide when my man hooman wears work boots. The nice assistant said, “Yes, that’s possible.”

Finally! At last! The quirks that come from my early life as an abused cat, were revealed. Was I literally kicked out of my first home? Or did I run away after being kicked in the face? The memory is foggy, but my alley life was safer than my first home.

One day a big white truck with two hoomans netted my kittens and me and took us to a place called an animal shelter. I cowered in a cage for days while my kittens were adopted one by one. They were beautiful multi-breed kitties. A lady hooman from a Siamese rescue agency found me at the shelter and became my foster hooman. She named me Edie. She made it so that I’d never have kittens again, fed me delicious food, and gave me a private room from her other rescue cats. I never learned to be social with other cats.

Then one day, two other hoomans arrived at my foster home. I could tell that they loved me the minute I left my private room. But, I had just learned to trust my foster hoomans — and to bring me to some unknowns — no thank you.

But it all worked out ok. I’m now in what we rescue kitties call our forever home. The new hoomans renamed me Chai, meaning “life.”

I don’t mind posing for photos.

Fortunately, I do live in the moment. My forever home is my palace. With my hoomans, we’re a threesome. We watch birds from the window. We play catch the feather. I’m provided plenty of q-tips to chase, as well as walnuts to pounce upon and attack. And two warm laps greet me whenever I land on one.

Today my beautiful fangs are gone as are two other teeth, plus the root of that broken tooth. And I still have quirks (like post abuse PTSD) that other hoomans might not like. It’s all from those dark days in the past.

Thanks for reading my story. I hope your next kitty will be from a rescue agency or shelter. We’re the best!

Give me a walnut, and I’ll play with it for hours. Yes, I am the Walnut Slayer!

A Note from my hooman: Before Mouser, our beloved and celebrity tabby who has his own page on this blog, I was blessed with the elevated presence of several Siamese cats. One lived to be 21 years. Each of these cats were a gift from a noted photographer who procured Siamese kittens to photo for calendars and books. When Mouser crossed the Rainbow Bridge at 18-years-old (far surpassing the predictions for a diabetic cat), I decided that I’d like to share space with another Siamese. But knowing about the inequities of some breeders, I began a hunt for a rescue group.

An internet search led me to the Southern California Siamese Rescue. Their website links to other Siamese rescue groups around the U.S. The national website notes, “Due to the background of the type of cat we usually see, we are looking for adopters who understand that most of these cats come with some baggage. Whether they are medically compromised or behaviorally challenged, these are some of the most wonderfully appreciative cats at being given a second chance.”

Chai fits the description perfectly. Her appreciative behavior far outweighs her baggage.

Visit Chai’s Facebook page: Mouser Loves Chai Cat.

Me and my hooman

4 thoughts on “My Name is Chai

  1. Oh my goodness. I’ve got tears in my eyes. Who would kick an animal? The pain she must have had. Thank God she has you all.
    She has found her safe haven.

    1. When the vet assistant agreed that she was probably kicked in the face, I broke out in tears. This cat is such a loving cuddle-bug, that — well, I won’t go into what I’d like to do to the person(s) who harmed her.

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