| B. R. found me; I certainly didn't go looking for her. A friend had saved a
stray kitten who was most unceremoniously pitched from a fast-moving Jeep
one night--the friend lives on an open, widely travelled road in Stow--and
she couldn't keep the kitten.
I, however, could, and said friend played upon my every weak point to have
me adopt this 3-lb., undernourished, obviously ill, but feisty as a Mill Rat
female calico cat.
I was deep into yoga and Eastern metaphysics at the time; naming her was
easy. "Baba Ram Kitty" nicely lent itself to the shortened "B. R. Kitty."
B. R. was the ultimate companion during five long years of readjustment and
fine tuning while I played out the Most Common Existential Dilemma--coming
out of divorce. She never complained when we lived in an apartment together,
but her daily vigils at the two windows in the apartment told me she was
longing for the outdoors.
I moved to Maynard; I lived in a house. I hated the thought of letting her
out, so I didn't; now she got insistent. I tried the old let-her-out-on-a-
leash trick; it worked fine until one night she did a kitty houdini and got
herself out of the harness and disappeared.
When she returned, we made an agreement--she could go out. She always came
when I called, and never strayed far.
She was long past her early injuries (so I thought. . .she was at the vet
so much in the first 6 months I kept her, she ran up $200 worth of bills;
when being heaved from the Jeep, she suffered nerve damage to her tail
(and later, it turned out, her spinal column). She fought her ground when
necessary, and defended her turf (always successfully) against feline and
canine alike. It never mattered the size. She was clearly In Control.
Last summer, things changed. She lost a fight--badly. Her left eye began
to cloud and weep, inexplicably. She hadn't received any damage to it--
the wound was neck/shoulder--but clearly something was going wrong internally.
A series of vet visits ensued; they were puzzled and as dismayed as I was.
It had gotten most difficult to keep her in during the "healing" time; she
had taken to spraying (a most rare behavior in a spayed female, I am told).
Finally, I was told she going blind in the weeping eye (even after a trip
to Lincoln for an animal ophthalmologist to operate on her); her spraying
continued. She began to hiss and attack her adopted pal Fuji.
The vet had the humanity to get me on the side during one repeat visit (it
was a tough time, financially, for all this); she told me that there simply
are no guarantees for behavior prediction in cats, unlike being able to
predict what a particular dog will be like for its breed. Whether or not
that was true is not the issue; I just knew I had to make a decision about
B. R. She had wasted away from eight pudgy pounds (she was always the
"runt") to the three she had been as a kitten. She came up near my face
now when I was waking in the morning and just leaned on me and sighed; she
couldn't even purr.
The trip to say good-bye was one of the hardest of my life; no, I take that
back, it was the hardest ever. B. R. sat quietly and nestled under my chin;
I rained tears down on her head while Steve drove and we both cried shamelessly.
I said good-bye as the vet administered the sedative which would take B.R.
from her pain and confusion. I left the vet in great racking sobs; I don't
think I even noticed until I got out to the car that I was quite the
spectacle--running nose, red eyes, and, but of course, white-and-gold
cat fur speckling my face and my clothes.
For all the pain on saying good-bye, B. R. and I had a lot of good times
together. She loved to sleep with me, play with my shoelaces when I was
doing sit-ups before going for my run, bring me frogs from the garden.
She was a born ham for the camera; I have more photos of her than any other
single subject (and I take a lot of pictures.)
I mourned her passing just as much as I have human beings. And unlike some
of my friends who tried to ease my pain by saying she "was only a cat," I
know differently.
She was a cat who happened to be my best friend for a long time.
And sometimes, like now, I miss her still.
And sometimes, I think I find her fur stuck to my clothes still.
And I have to smile, because the little munchkin always knew how to
get my attention--and might still.
-- E.
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Do cats have personalities? Some people feel cats do
not, however, my experience with cats leads me to believe,
otherwise. Having lived with many cats, I have observed
subtle and unique mannerisms that distinguish each cat from
the other. These dissimilarities in behavior seem to be
expressed in their eating, grooming and sleeping habits. Of
the cats I have owned, the personalities of two, Sidney and
Odette, remain vivid in my mind.
Sidney was an orange and white tabby. Her portly body
seemed to disaffirm her reticent disposition when served
food, her only source of meals. She often had to be cajoled
into eating. After eating, she would seek out a comfortable
place, bereft of visitors, to meticulously groom her face,
paws, body and tail. Her plush lustrous fur attested to her
lengthy and careful cleaning habits. The grooming task
completed, she would proceed to massage her lair prior to
lying down and entering a peaceful slumber.
Odette was a gray and silver tabby. Her long slender
but muscular body testified to her desire of not only eating
served food but hunting for her meals, as well. After a
feeding, she would seek out a warm and comfortable lap to
share her feeling of contentment. This would lead to a
brief session of grooming to clean the face and paws and
finally a nap. Unlike Sidney, Odette favored company when
entering the comforts of sleep.
A person who has never lived with cats, or perhaps,
only one cat in his life-time, might conclude that all cats
are, indeed, alike. But, my experience tells me that cats
do seem to display individual personalities, and leaves me
to agree with the belief shared by many cat owners that cats
are every bit "little people in fur coats".
Authors Note: This essay was written for a College Writing 101 course.
I must apologise for using the past-tense as the cats
are very much alive and living with me. I used past-tense
only because I had, for some reason, started the essay
in past-tense and decided to carry it through for consistency.
Believe me the cats are very much alive and they personally
take an interest in reminding me of that, especially at
feeding time.
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