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Name: |
Lurch
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Age: |
Five years old
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Gender: |
Male
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Kind: |
Domestic Short Hair
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Home: |
Woodinville, Washington, USA
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Lurch
came to us in August of 1996, and we've had many questions about
him since. Lurch was part of a feral litter, found by our
veterinarian's daughter in an empty lot. The mother was taken by
animal control, but the litter was left behind. One by one, all were
adopted to friends and clientele, until only Lurch was left. The
problem, of course, was that Lurch was, well, a little different. All
the other kittens were healthy, but Lurch suffers from a condition
known as "cerebellar hypoplasia." We believe this is due to the mother
being sick during her pregnancy. The effects are, as best we
can fathom, a serious lack of balance; impaired fine motor skills that
result in a shaky or "wobbly" motion , and an apparent bad case of
far-sightedness. As a kitten, Lurch could barely walk. 1996 is the
year we lost both of our dogs; the Newfoundland, Elsie on Easter, and
later that summer Shasta, the Rottweiller. It was as we were dealing
with Shasta for the last time at the veterinarian's that we met Lurch.
Perhaps it was part of our grieving process for Shasta, perhaps we
felt sorry for him, but whatever the reason, Lurch came with us.
In the years since, Lurch has grown into a seriously happy and healthy
cat. Our two Manx-mixes, Ziggy and Zak, took him under their wings
from the first day and taught him how to be a cat. While we certainly
had reservations initially, he's adjusted to his disabilities to such
an extent that even the word "disability" seems much too strong. What
he lacks for in physical ability, Lurch makes up for in other ways.
He's an exceptionally smart cat, with an excess of personality. He
learned quickly to compensate for his shortcomings; for example by
using the ramps we provided for the stairs, or by carefully,
claw-by-claw, climbing to the top of our seven foot cat-tree. Because of
his condition, he's been referred to as "God's kitty" by at least one
visitor, but we know that he's got a wee bit o' the devil in him as
well. He likes to periodically ambush one of the dogs or other cats.
He may fail, (attempting to jump forward is just as likely to result
in a jump to the left or straight up), but he does so with great
gusto.
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