Monday, November 2, 2009

A Cat's Change of Life




Early one morning, Tucson's eastbound traffic was slow through the busy intersection even when the light was green. In the northbound lanes, I saw a cat. It was running in a crouched position, weaving between the cars and trucks. I pulled the car over just past the intersection.

I jumped out, ran into the intersection, and tried to herd the cat toward the curb. I was murmuring,"It's all right, baby. Let me help you. Stop running honey. I'm just going to help you," and amazingly, she did. We were still in the road. I reached down and scooped her up. I grasped her back feet with my left hand and wrapped my whole right arm around her. I hurried back to my car. The whole thing hadn't taken any longer than the time it takes for the light to change.

The cat was a beautiful, mature, adult female Himalayan. She sat shaking beside me. I petted her head and spoke calmly to her as I drove off. I would have liked to keep her myself but I had a dog and he was all I could handle. Besides, someone out there already loved this beautiful cat. Except for her fear, she was in good shape.

I thought about the animal shelter, but they weren't open yet. Then I remembered my friend Sharron who lives a block from the SPCA shelter. I decided to see if she would be willing to take the cat off my hands and take her to the shelter when it opened. By the time I got to her house the cat had stopped shaking and Sharron said she'd take her.

Ididn't see Sharron for a couple of months. After we caught up on our news, I started thanking her for taking the cat to the shelter that day. She told me, "As it turned out, I didn't take the cat to the shelter. That weekend I was going to my Mother's in New Mexico ( a 300 mile drive) to surprise her on her eighty-second birthday. I decided to give her the pretty cat as a birthday gift. When I got there I carried the cat into the house, when mom reached out to hold her, the cat leaped to the floor and scurried under the sofa. Mom didn't see the cat for weeks. She named her Tiffany, talked to her, put out food, cleaned her litter box, but the cat didn't show herself until one day when Mom was knitting, she came out, jumped up on the sofa, and curled up on an afghan. She'd finally recovered from her change of life."

"Change of life is right," I agreed. "I don't know how many she's had, but we witnessed her transition into this one, didn't we?'