Hello! Amy, Steve’s mom, here! First off, I’d like to admit that I am not the writer in the family. That job officially belongs to my fiance, so please forgive me if I veer off course.
Steve is my tripawd kitty. Oh, and Steve is a female! I’m a volunteer and foster mom at my local humane society, and last July I was asked to foster a 2ish year old cat through an upper respiratory infection into a rear leg amputation and post op recovery. I should mention that I have some veterinary technician/assistance background, so post op care/rehab on an amputee was actually something I was excited to do. One of my fellow volunteers introduced me to “Mya” and I was hooked. She was orange, fluffy, and sweet as can be. I already had two orange boys at home, and if any of you own orange cats, you know. There’s just something about orange cats!
“Mya” came into the humane society with a deformed rear right leg. The doctors and staff didn’t know if it was a congenital defect or a poorly healed old injury. They did know that, although “Mya” got along well with the deformed leg thumping along beside her, the risk that she would get it caught in something was too high and the leg had to be removed.
As soon as she came home, my fiance and I tried to come up with a new name for her (we rename all of our fosters, it’s part of a right of passage). We Googled “tripod names” and looked at website after website. We crowd sourced our friends. Nothing was unique enough. One day, while Steve was thumping around our bedroom – she didn’t run, she thumped – I looked at her and recited a line from a Michael Keaton movie. “Sorry Steve, that leg’s gonna hafta come off.” Very few people get the reference. “Multiplicity” is not Michael Keaton’s best work, but the name stuck! She started answering to it; and by the time she went in for surgery, half of the staff were calling “Mya” Steve!!
Not long after Steve came home for recovery, I developed vertigo. Steve was confined to a cage to restrict her movement; and since no matter what I did, everything spun, I would lay on the floor next to her cage and pet her to keep her company. When her confinement time was up, she stuck by my side. If I was sitting on the couch, she was either next to me or behind me with a paw on my shoulder. If I took a shower, she sat on the side of the tub. When the vertigo got so bad that I was nauseated, she sat next to me in the bathroom while I hung my head over the toilet. If I couldn’t get out of bed, she stayed in bed with me.
It quickly became obvious to both me and my fiance that Steve couldn’t go up for adoption…she was already home! At her final recheck appointment, we signed her adoption papers.