Christmas miracles come in all sizes, shapes

and colors. In this instance, the orange ginger tabby variety.

Today, The Husband and I were just settling down for our long Winter's nap at about 2 in the afternoon. About half an hour into it, the dogs started going crazy outside (there arose such a clatter?). We couldn't see what was going on, so we sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.

Through the bamboo, we could see this orange, um, thing making it's slow way through. "A cat! Call off the dogs! And grab a towel! And some gloves! I think it's hurt!" was the message from The Husband.

We gather a few things up and try to head on in for a closer look. The poor thing is moving slowly and gingerly through the brush. Eventually, The Husband and I close in and we wrap it in a towel and pick it up.

The cat was skin and bones. In all my years of watching the Animal Cops program, I have seen animals this starved and always feel terrible for them. It is NOTHING seeing it on TV compared to seeing it in person. The poor thing's eyes were sunk into its head from dehydration and starvation. The hipbones were in sharp relief. I have never seen an animal look like this that wasn't already dead.

Worried that this cat was possibly sick, we stuck him in the greenhouse/future sewing room. It's a warm room in the day and is easily heated at night and perfect to help us assess what was going on. Food was not high on the cat's priority list, but water? That it couldn't seem to get enough of.

After it warmed up some, The Husband and I put on the gloves again to try and examine it. Was it sick? Or just abandoned and starving? Or something else?

The verdict: car. This cat appears to have been hit by some sort of vehicle. His skull shows an impact point, and he has several broken ribs. While he obviously can walk, he is not terribly comfortable in the hindquarters, so who knows what's going on back there. He had to have been hit by a car, but not completely run over and was thrown to the side of the road. Somehow, he has survived this long since then. His coat is still pretty, so it's obvious that he was somebody's darling at some point in the recent past. He loves attention and he struggles to purr, but it just can't come out. He's got the fight and the will to live, even if his body looks like it just crawled from the grave. We're going to give him medical attention to help him out, and and warm place to recover. I hope it will be enough. If it's not, at least he won't die out in the cold and all alone.

But the quesiton is this. How on earth did this cat manage to get onto our property? We're fenced in. No cat in this bad of a condition could possibly make it up and over the fence - even without the starvation and dehydration factor being there. Broken ribs and messed up hind quarters arent' too conducive to jumping or climbing. There's no hole in the perimeter of the fence - we had the girls check just to make sure. We're off the beaten path by at least 2.5 acres in all directions, so it's not like someone would just decide to dump the cat over the fence if it was found by someone.

The Husband has proclaimed this an Act of God. He's a bit stunned that he's so concerned about this poor feline. But frankly, I think The Husband cursed himself. I really and truly do. After years of being cat-free and anti-cat, he had a momentary lapse of reason (he's claiming temporary insanity), and BAM! We were the proud caretakers of a tiny kitten. The kitten, who has been named Spike, has grown hale and hearty, and aside from a bout with ringworm that he came with unbeknownst to us and is currently conquering with daily fungicide baths, he's the spunkiest kitten alive. After swinging back and forth between "we aren't keeping him" and "okay, we'll keep him," it's been finally settled that yes, Spike's permanent home is here with us.

And now, there's this cat. Already the proclamation has been put forth. His name is Santa Claws, and if we manage to nurse him back to health, he stays too - barring the possibility of finding his owners.

Cause once you're named, you're in the family for life. Get well, Santa Claws!