A story that bear repeating- for all those who love cats, or the book "The Cat Who Came for Christmas" by Cleveland Amory- the only person I have ever met who was born on my birthday.
My striped baby is going to be nine in February. She has a very comfortable life right now with an owner who dotes on her, lavishes lots of love and cuddles on her, spoils her rotten with a weekly can of Fancy Feast, and provides lots of catnip mousies, a very occasional saucer of milk, and Pounces.
But she didn't always have a good life. When she was about 11 months old, she was dumped off at an animal shelter by an owner that didn't want her anymore. The shelter was a kill shelter. And she was heavily pregnant, with kittens.
A very kind woman in Mercerville, got a call on December 23 that this cat was going to be put down the next day, unless someone claimed her. The cat was described as nice, but heavily pregnant. The next day the cat was adopted, brought back to this home in Mercerville, and made comfortable to give birth. And because it was Christmas Eve, she was named Holly.
A week or so later, but in time for the yearly tax deduction, six baby kittens came into this world. Holly had 6 kittens, two were white with black patches, one was white with grey patches, one was a grey tabby, and 2 looked like Holly. Their names were, Kringle, Joy, Noel, Merry, Vixen, and Feliz.
That Holly is such a smart girl....
When the kittens were weaned, they were placed in loving homes. But Holly remained - for some strange reason, unadoptable. The kind lady who she lived with would take Holly and the other 14 cats she had given temporary housing to- to adoption fairs every weekend in Hillsboro, but no one wanted her. The other cats came and went, and Holly spent the next two years of her life living in a small Cape Cod house with cats that would come and go.
During this time, I was hospitalized and when I came back home after 30 days and several ECT treatments, I picked up my then fur baby, a blue gray darling named Cleo with a white heart on her neck. Cleo was almost 18, and in December of that year, her health deteriorated severely. When I picked her up at the cattery, she and I bonded, but I noticed something wasn't right with her. The next day after I got home I woke with her in the bed, and I noticed her coat had gone from blue gray to solid white. Her heart was not visible. I took her to the vet, and the vet told me she was dying, her kidneys were shutting down and I should put her down. I got a second opinion. I went back home with her, and watched her the rest of the day til the afternoon. Cleo was still alert and meowing and purring but I could see she was clearly in pain. That afternoon my mother, father, and I drove somberly to the vet, and stayed with her - she was in my arms, as she slipped out of this life and went to the Rainbow Bridge. I went home with my parents, crawled into bed and cried. I was inconsolable. It was like she had stayed alive on purpose just long enough so she and I could have one perfect day together before she left me.
A month or so later, my fuzz ball came to me in a dream. She told me to stop grieving, she was very happy and she needed me to move on. She would be waiting for me where she is. And she told me there was a tan tabby that needed a home ASAP and I needed to call the shelter tomorrow morning and adopt her.
All this struck me as weird, and I forgot it when I woke up. I went into the city to meet some friends from out of town, and during lunch they made a comment to me about a dream they had about me and a tan tabby. Strange.
I got home about 3 pm and opened my email. And saw a note from my mother about the shelter having a plethora of cats that needed homes. i called the number, and later that night a woman got back to me. After a few questions- do I have a home or an apartment, do I have children and other cats- she said she had the perfect cat for me- a tan tabby that was almost 3. I told her I would take her.
The next day I went to collect the tan tabby. She made an awful first impression, she was shy, she went under the sofa, howling uncontrollably. My parents were enamored by some of the younger cats- I remember one was black and white tuxedo, and one was a moggie. But the kind lady said she thought the striped tabby was for me, and made me a deal. I I could take this cat for a week and if it didn't work out, I could return her. If I liked her, then I needed to go to Hillsboro and write out a check for 75 dollars for the cat.
We got the cat in the carrier, and she wailed the whole car ride home. And when I opened up the carrier when she arrived, I showed her where the box was, where her food and water were- she ran under the bed and stayed there for a day or so. And eventually came out. And several days later, started to explore me. By the end of the week she would sleep in bed with me, and allow me to pet her until she became a purr machine, or jump on the couch with me while I was reading, or watching TV. By the end of the month she was my best friend and I became hers.
She is my little Christmas miracle. She is my best friend, and she keeps me sane and happy. I love her so much.
In this season of miracles, she and I would like to wish our readers miracles in their lives too.
(The picture above is Holly at her last birthday party).
ETA: Svasti has a beautiful tribute to her fur baby Cleopatra here Her Cleo is beautiful, it's worth a read.
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