Sitting here a at my computer on the abnormally cold March day, I glance down at a picture of a tiny gray cat. It takes me back to that clear cold February day when I was handed a small blue cat carrier containing a very ill two year old cat, his only crusted over, mucus draining from both nostrils, and only the faintest sign of life. A large packet of meds, a note, a thank you, a “he probably won’t make it through the night, call us we’ll pick up the remains” from the overwhelmed shelter worker.
Home he came, up to the bathroom, on with the shower filling the room with steam and isolating him from the other cats, I cleaned his eye, cleaned his nose, gave his meds, rubbed tuna juice on his lips (he couldn’t smell anything) He lifted his head took a
couple bites and flopped down.
I stayed with him all night. Come morning, he staggered up used the litter box in his new larger cage, ate a little and laid down
with a little more ease.
Improving everyday, in six weeks he joined the tribe. Never healthy, never weighing more than 8 pounds, he spent his nearly seven years doing everything he could to fill the hole in my heart caused by the loss of my beloved Littleman.
Thank you little One-Eyed-Jack, thank you. I’ll never forget your love, your tiny bark like sound instead of a meow, your prance of a walk, your strength through the cancer as it finally won. New Years Eve 2010 ended our journey, but you will always be in my heart, always. I love you.