by Psych [email protected]
Many years ago, when I was growing up in a small town in
New York State, my mother was known as the "cat lady," as she could
never let a hungry cat pass by without offering it a can of food. As you
can imagine, the word spread among the neighbors and the felines, and
our property was decorated with beautiful, shiny, mysterious cats of all
shapes, sizes and colors. They all had names of course, ranging from the
regal to the downright silly. Each name remarkably fit the unique
personality of each, and I still remember them all (with the help of a
photo album). One cold October night, my mother got a phone call from a
whispering young woman who apparently worked at a local facility that
did animal experimentation. She told my mother that there was one cat
who "broke her heart," as she is "so human"
and "really deserves better than this." After running the idea (of
rescuing this cat) by my father who loudly stated that "if another cat
comes into this house I'm leaving!" (he always said that but he never
did)! my mother apologized, and suggested that the woman either bring
the cat home herself, or bring it to the local shelter for adoption.
Then next evening, as my mother and I returned from an
early dinner, the car headlights reflected the green eyes of a Burmese
looking cat, sitting and waiting in the driveway, as if she had always
belonged there. She was a polydactyl, also known as a Hemingway cat, and
had big mitten like paws, which were the cutest thing I had ever seen.
She showed no fear as the car pulled into the driveway.
When we got out of the car, she immediately ran to me yelling, "wah wah"
like a human baby. I looked down at her dark brown little body and her
baby like face, and fell immediately in love. After keeping her safe
from the other kitties in my room overnight, it was discovered that she
had a urinary problem, and was brought to the vet immediately the next
morning. Upon examination, the vet shook his head sadly. "This poor cat
has about 6 healed incisions on her abdomen, I'm not sure what's going
on here." My mother was immediately reminded of her phone call a couple
of nights before, and they concluded that this in fact was the "lab
cat." The vet painted a grim picture of her prognosis, as she had kidney
problems, and was bloated. He suggested
that we could put her to sleep, as she was probably 6 or 7, and with her
past, it wasn't likely that she would life a long life. My mother's
answer was a quick, "NO, she came to us for a reason, and she deserves a
chance." After some pills and a shot, Octavia came home with us, and she
took up
permanent residence in my room. Over time, a couple of the other more
mellow house cats were invited in and befriended her, and she was able
to leave my room to venture out and explore the rest of the house.
"Witty Wat" was her best friend, and this pale pink nosed calico girl
was the best body guard a cat could ask for, using her own body as
shield against the other more rambunctious cats during their outings.
"Picky" (AKA Licorice Nose) was a big panda looking male cat that was as
sweet as sweet can be, and also appointed himself Octavias body guard.
Nobody messed with Picky, so she strutted confidently when he was by her
side. Over time, the medications started to work, and the urinary
problems ceased. Occasionally they would resurface, but a trip to the
vet for some cortisone usually zapped the problem within a couple of
days. She was well worth the effort, as my friendship with her grew
deeper as each day passed. She seemed to understand very well that she
had been given a second chance at life, and that her luck was amazing to
have not only left the lab, but to have fallen into a home where the
cats were treated like royalty. Octavia was my best friend for 15 more
years, and passed away after suffering a stroke which left her
paralyzed. Her last amazing act was displayed on her last day on earth
when the veterinarian told me that there wasn't anything left for him to
do. I decided to bring her home to pass away, rather than having her put
to sleep, as he told me that she was not in any pain, and was mostly,
drifting in and out of consciousness. She laid on my lap in the living
room, and I spoke softly to her about all of the love and wonder she had
brought into my life, and I thanked her for being such an unbelievable
friend through the years. She looked up into my eyes, and gave me one
last "wah." Without thinking, I told her that it was all right for her
to "go," and through my tears, I watched her beautiful eyes close, and
the purring begin. This remarkable being waited to pass on until she
knew that I was going to be able to handle it. I shall always remember
that dear, intelligent
soul with the deepest respect and gratitude
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