Post-Traumatic-Ginger-Cat-Disorder

The Cure? Ricky Roo.

     When you're three-years-old and an only child in a neighborhood with no other kids, you get pretty creative at entertaining yourself. That's why, one day, I decided to put a cat on my head. As we didn't have a cat, boundaries had to be pushed. So I procured a feral cat from the alley - a ginger tom - and perched him atop my never-cut, golden locks.

     Tom must've been tuckered that day. He sat still as anything, while I swirled around the yard. He may have left no scratches, but he certainly left his mark. Ringworm.

     My Godiva-like locks? A pile around the barber's feet. Round "tats" covering my shiny head.

     I lived for decades terrified of encountering one of these blighters again. Didn't have to be feral. Even seeing a ginger cat curled up in a friend's lap brought on an attack of Post-Traumatic-Ginger-Cat-Disorder, aka PTGD. Quaking, I'd breakout in a terrible itch all over my head.

     Clearly, I needed a "hair-of-the-cat" cure. Enter Ricky Roo. He'd been languishing in a cage for over a year after his owner died. Seems no one wanted a 15-year-old cat with a wonky thyroid. About the time his best friend departed, so had Angus, my Cairn terrier and BFF. I needed another heartbeat in my house, and Ricky needed to be cage-free and swaddled in love. Sight-unseen, I made the commitment to give him a forever-home.

     Well, shudda looked before I let my heart leap. Arriving with a carrier, treats, blankets, and toys, who stared out at me from his cage? Ricky Roo, the ginger tomcat. 

     I marvel at how life comes full-circle and all wounds are healed. One look at that ginger tom's sweet face that so many had rejected and I melted. PTGD cured. (300 words)