Remember Petey?

Petey, the cat who tried to kill me?

I have often wondered about Petey over the past six months.  Through the puncture wounds, and the nerve damage, and the c-diff, and the ensuing intestinal disasters, I kept thinking about Petey.  Wondering how he was doing and hoping that he'd come out of his shell in his new home.  Hoping that the whole ordeal wasn't some terrible, useless mistake.

Well.  I got a notification on Facebook the other day, from the woman who ran the now-defunct rescue that took in Petey:

 "this is especially for you. I saw Petey's owner today.    Petey is doing amazing. He is Heidi's best buddy and follows her everywhere. He is the most loving cat, and now has a new playmate (a retriever). They are still getting used to each other. He promises to send pictures soon. They love him dearly. He said to tell all of us THANK YOU! Rocky, they hope you have recovered from your ordeal. It took a while to break him, but he said it was worth the wait. Thank you all for your hard work and dedication."

Man oh man, I SWEAR it was all worth it.

Because  I'm crazy.