Cat Tales 48
I am not a religious person in the conventional sense. Nor have I been a particularly spiritual one. Yet, I realize that when you most need the m, mi racles do happen. Furthe rmore, they come in the form that means the most to you. In my case, on little cat’s feet.
It began twenty years ago when a coworker brought me a five -week-old kitte n she had rescued. Although I had wanted a kitten to keep Tiger, my one -year- old cat, company, I hadn’t envisioned a scrawny, flea -covered bag of bones. Against my bette r judgme nt, I took her home. Se veral flea baths later, she appeared marginally more presentable. While I had my doubts about he r, Sammy quickly decided I made an acceptable mothe r and attached herself to me. No matte r whe re I went, the re she’d be. If I venture d out of her sight, she’d cry. Only cuddling her in my arms calmed her down.
I was holding her the day my mom called to tell me Grandfathe r had died. He was the only grandfathe r I had known, and as a child, I had secretly believed I was his favorite. For days after the fune ral, I would burst into tears whene ver anyone spoke to me. I wanted to lose myself in sleep, but I had a kitten who de mande d attenti on. As I comforte d her, I began to be comforted myself. As I told her everything would be all right, I started to believe it. As I told her how much I loved her, I realized I was also loved. My grandfather’s death didn’t erase his love. As long as I had his memories, he was with me. Sammy re mained my constant companion for sixteen years. Although I still had Tiger and had added a third cat, Thomas, to the household, Sa mmy held first place in my heart, maybe because she was linked to my grandfathe r or because she needed me so much. Heartbroken, I vowe d neve r to get anothe r cat. Tiger and Thomas would be enough now. Two wee ks later, on a run to the pe t store for food, a bundle of fur caught my eye. Withi n minutes, a small, tortoiseshell tabby kitten nestled in my arms but I re minde d myself I didn’t want or need a kitty. Before I could hand her back a sick cat in a nearby cage distracted the clerk. She whisked the cat out of the room, leaving me alone with the wriggling fur ball in my arms. For the nex t twenty minutes, the kitten stared into my eyes, grabbed my hair, and did everything except shout, Take me home, we need each other. I refused to listen. When the clerk returne d, she tickled the kitten unde r the chin, saying, “Isn’t she a cutie? She just arrived. Lucky you, you’re the first person to hold he r, and she obviously likes you. How do you want to pay?” Pay? I didn’t want to pay. I wasn’t going to pay. The next thing I knew, I had a receipt in one hand and a kitten in the othe r.
Over the next few weeks, Miss Maggie made a place for herself in my home and in my heart. She didn’t re place Sammy. Animals, like people, can’t be replaced that easily. Howeve r, she showed me that even a broken hea rt has enough love in it to reach out to a kitten in need of love. By reaching out, a broken hea rt begins to heal itself, a lesson I’d learned once from Sa mmy but ha d forgotten. Looki ng over the adopti on pape rs, I realized Miss Maggie had been brought to the Humane Society on July 1, Sammy’s birthday. Yet she hadn’t been put up for adoption for six weeks, although the normal time period is much shorte r. The delay in putting Miss Maggie up for adoption, my showing up at the pet store two hours after she had been brought in, and the persistent clerk all added up to one thing: Miss Maggie and I were meant for each othe r.
It’s happening again. Two weeks ago a male kitten wande red into the parki ng lot of a school where I substitute teach. The principal kept him in he r office, but he needed a real home. She asked me to take him, but I refused, because I already had three cats. But a little voice inside said, He’s going to be yours. The next morning, I found out why. Tiger had suffered the feline equivalent of a stroke and lost almost all control of her right side. She could barely walk, eat, or drink and was getting progressively weaker. I knew what I had to do. The next day, with red and swol len eyes, I took her to the vet for the last time.
In a few days, a small black-and-white kitten na med Jonesy will come home from school with me. Not to take Tiger’s place, but to carve out his own place just as Sammy, Miss Maggie, and Thomas had done before, to show me that life and love go on even in the midst of heartbreak and death. Miracles do happen. All you have to do is open your eyes, your heart, and your door to the m.