Our scrub cat came to us as a foster kitten when he was between 8-10 weeks old. He lived in a house in Allegan, MI with about 50 other cats. He was really stupid looking. When we decided to foster him, he was recovering from botfly larvae that had burrowed under his skin.
Here’s the story.
Before Scrubby was emancipated from his craphole house, some amateur country vet stuck a tube in his neck (when he was between 4-6 weeks old) to drain the puss from the botfly infection. When Scrubby and his brethren were finally rescued, the tube in his neck was infected. Emergency surgery followed. That’s why he is named Scrubs.
Scrubs became Scrub Dub, Scrubbah, Scrubbing Bubbles, Scrubster, Scrubz, Scrubilicious — and Scrubby.
Scrubs is not a perfect cat. Some would say that he’s country dumb. Sometimes his brain is broken and he pees on things — although that’s much better than it used to be. Every once in awhile, he likes to chew on stupid shit (e.g., cords, rubber toys, sticks, the nubby end of the Furminator) that might kill him. He eats the dumbest (non-toxic) things.
I know he would be happier as a barn cat in Michigan who lays in the sun and hunts mice. And he likes Ken more than me. But I don’t care. He is perfect and he is mine.
Happy birthday, Scrubby!