Newman is a feral cat who was adopted from Care Animal Hospital 3 years ago. When he was first brought into the hospital, Dr. Garnett was sure that, like most feral cats, he could not be touched without a sedative. Newman was a little bit different than we expected, though. He sat near the front of the cage after his neuter surgery and seemed to want to interact, so Dr. Garnett started to look for a good home for him.
His owner-to-be was in the pottery lab with Dr. Garnett one day complaining about too many mice in her house, and how she really needed a good "mouser". Dr. Garnett told her that she had this very beat-up cat that had vomited a lot of tapeworms, indicating that he was probably great at catching mice. She took this battered old guy, who lived under her bed for a few weeks, but really ended up being a joy to their family. Here is a statement that Newman wrote for the blog:
My name is Newman (after Paul, not Seinfeld: let's be clear about that up front). When I'm not having a drink of fresh water from the faucet, I'm fixing my Siamese blue eyes on an impudent dog, letting her know who's boss around here. Since coming to live with my adoptive mom three years ago (after Dr. Paige tended my extensive wounds and took away my manhood--and, soon after, my tomcat cheeks), I've come to be loved by all the neighborhood as "the best kitty", presumably due to my incredible good looks, affectionate nature, keen mousing abilities but respect for the family parrot, and the fact that all the other cats in the surrounding environs welcome me with open paws. Or maybe it's because my person can't stop singing my praises about what a perfect match we are. "I couldn't have special ordered a better cat," she's been known to insist. "He's everything I wanted, and nothing I didn't. I don't even have to bother with a litter box because, even in the worst weather, Newman will only go outside." I mean, what more could a person want from a pet? I'm not even a finicky eater.
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