🐾 Caturday Tribute: Bobolink, and the Painted Stone
Some cats arrive in your life like a whisper. Bobolink was more like a vow. He came to me at six months old, a street rescue with FIV. The SNIP bus rescuer had named him Boulder —because he wouldn’t move from a single step, trembling and crying when touched. He was considered unadoptable. But once inside my home, everything changed. Happy Cat , my beta cat, took a special interest in him. Within weeks, Boulder was wrestling with his big brother, pouncing, running, and radiating joy. I renamed him Bobolink , after the bird whose song feels like a burst of sunlight. For five years, he was just that—sunlight. He slept beside me every night, not just for affection, but for the warmth his body came to need. He was my shadow, my comfort, my quiet pal. Then came year six. He was diagnosed with autoimmune hemolytic anemia, likely linked to his FIV. The vet recommended euthanasia. I pushed back. We tried statins, but his white blood cell count kept falling. Follow-up vis...