Why we call Simba, Mufasa.
When I met Simba, he was dying. He was malnourished, skinny and sickly. He was so desperate for food, he wandered out of his safe hiding place under the porch and approached a human, (me) having had no prior experience with humans. This is not exactly normal behavior for a kitten born outside of captivity.
Simba was one of a litter of five whose mother left to go hunt and never returned. I knew this because the porch they lived under belonged to my friend who was also a cat lover like myself.
When I saw Simba I knew instantly he needed help. He was clearly dying. I believe he used his very last bit of energy to approach me and "meeeeeeeeooooow!" I scooped him up and we went in my friend's house. "There were two out there last night." she told me. "There were five to begin with, their mother got ran over." Needless to say I was a bit upset. She let five kittens, knowing their mother was gone, die one at a time and did nothing?!? She did not even consider telling me, someone who is known for rescuing kittens?!?
Dissapointed, I went out to look for the other Survivor but it was too late for the little guy, simba was the last one.
I fed him milk out of an eye dropper to start. Later, I got him kitten formula. His routine for the first few days was eat, sleep, eat, sleep. He sat in my lap from the time I met him and that became my routine.
He had just started to show signs of regaining his strength when he got pneumonia. His eyes were the start of it. They were infected and would fill with pus regularly and surprisingly quickly. If he took a nap,(which he did often) his eyes would seal shut and when he woke up he would not be able to open them.
Simba and I became a duo, anywhere I went, so did simba. I could not leave him anywhere knowing that he would take a nap and wake up unable to see and I would not be there to clean his eyes. I could not live with that on my conscience. Everyday, I cleaned his eyes 10 to 15 times, fed him multiple times a day out of an eyedropper until he was strong enough to drink on his own.
Unfortunately, the disease in his lungs progressed. He began to have a very difficult and painful time breathing. Every second with him was heartbreaking. However, the way he fought to survive was amazing.
Finally, when he started to take a turn for the worst my girlfriend and her mother agreed to take him to the vet. I mentioned that he needed antibiotics and to make sure and get some from the visit. The night before they took him I thought for sure he was going to die. He was looking worse than he did when I found him. The malnourishment from his mother's disappearance and now the pneumonia together had served to stunt his growth drastically. At a month old he still looked like he was a week old.
That night my girlfriend, Simba and I sat in bed watching a movie but I was distracted. Simba's breathing was terrible. It was hard to listen to. I pet him and talk to him all night. I told him, "I put too much work into this for you to die now, Simba. I'll tell you what, I'll make you a deal. If you don't die I'll upgrade your name to Mufasa and we will call your first born son simba."
I went on like this with him really just for the sake of talking to him. I told him about all the things he will get to do if he lives. Chasing mice, sleeping all day, leftovers from my girlfriend's mother's cooking. Plus I had five other young kittens around he could play with. At any rate, it was all I could do at the moment.
The next morning they took him in to see the vet. The vet had a look at him and told my girl and her mother that there was no way the little guy would make it, the disease had simply progressed too far. A heartbreaking thing to hear. Luckily for me my girl opted to not mention what the vet had said.
She told the vet that she could not come home without Simba and antibiotics. That if she did I would be upset. So they returned with Simba and antibiotics.
I gave him the medicine as prescribed and Simba became Mufasa. Within 3 days he started regaining his strength. He begin eating on his own, he was walking around more and more and not just to go potty. The little guy had actually done it, he pulled through for the name upgrade!
After the meds were all gone and he was beginning to seem like a normal kitten again, he got pneumonia..... again. I was very upset thinking that there was no way he will make it through all of that again.
Three days into it, all at once, he simply got better. One day we woke up and he was fine.. again. I was skeptical but happy.
At this point, by my account, he had used three of his nine lives but he was alive! All of these events have made Mufasa become quite attached to me, he is the most affectionate cat I've ever seen. For the longest time he would try to drink milk from my goatee apparently thinking I was his mother. Mufasa is, to this day my favorite kitty, we are still very close.
As a final thought on the matter, I should mention, he now has a son who looks almost exactly like him named Simba. Also, Mufasa has decided that, with his new chance at life, he is going to pursue his dream of becoming a rock star. Here is a pic of him singing 'roxanne' by the police!
As I finished Mufasa's story, I looked up to gauge my audience's reaction.
"So now you can clearly see why Mufasa is my favorite right?" I asked. All I got for feedback were blank stairs. I understand, my cats can't talk, but I like to think that in that moment if they could talk they would have said "food?"
Thanks for reading much love to you all
