In a message dated 5/24/2006 1:27:09 PM Pacific Daylight Time, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:
Please forgive me for sending this long story, but it touched my heart. May it touch youra as well.
~Ashleigh
>EVERY CAT IS SPECIAL
>by Larry McCarley
>
> That particular night we were not sure what we had seen, or
> indeed if we had seen anything.
> At first he seemed more shadow than substance, allowing us
> only the occasional glimpse. But there definitely was something
> out there, and that something was feline -- a cat black as the
> darkest night, illuminated by two golden eyes, half-moons at their
> centers -- wise eyes that we later discovered seemed to peer into
> our very souls.
> We named our mysterious night visitor Othello. We could not
> have known at the time that his name was so well chosen.
> For some time, our relationship with Othello was
> unpredictable. One day he might allow a momentary touch, the next
> day he would keep his distance.
> Then, on one remarkable day in September, Othello apparently
> decided we met his qualifications for companions, and simply walked
> through the door into his new home.
> Within a few days we took Othello to our veterinarian, where
> he tested positive for feline leukemia. After agonizing over the
> decision, because of the possible danger to our other cats, we
> decided to take the risk and keep Othello with us.
> We have never regretted our decision.
> Othello became the most affectionate cat imaginable, gentle
> and loving, almost as if he were making up for lost time.
> One by one our other cats accepted Othello, but the most
> remarkable relationship from the very beginning was struck between
> Othello and Barclay, our year-old Sheltie. They quickly forged an
> almost inseparable bond and thus became the quintessential odd couple.
> For Othello, being held for the first time in his life was a
> unique sensation, one he came to enjoy immensely. Lying supine in
> the crook of his bearer's elbow, he would coolly survey his new
> surroundings, using subtle body movements to steer his bearer where
> he wanted to go, looking like a benign little black Buddha
> reclining rather immodestly in their arms.
> For that matter, most of the things more fortunate cats enjoy
> were, for Othello, a new and unique sensation. We were somewhat
> surprised to discover how much he enjoyed being brushed. Sitting
> as if posing for a Steinlen poster, he would in the process of our
> brushing him slowly dissolve like India ink onto the carpet. But
> the real payoff for us during these moments was the look he would
> give us -- that wonderful look only a cat can give, that says
> unequivocally, "I love you."
> Not a day passed the next few months that Othello did not
> repay in some way all our efforts to woo him.
> Then March came, escorted by the ill wind that blows no good,
> and Othello began to show the first serious symptoms of his
> illness. At the suggestion of our vet we carried this ailing but
> marvelous cat, "tame" for only a short while, almost two hundred
> miles round trip to Texas A&M Veterinary Hospital. True to form,
> Othello made the trip with flying colors, charming one attending
> veterinarian so much that on his discharge sheet she noted that he
> was "one of the sweetest cats she had ever worked with" -- a
> sentiment previously voiced by our own veterinarian and her staff.
> But the diagnosis, though not wholly unexpected, was
> nevertheless heartbreaking. Othello had spinal lymphoma. He would
> slowly become paralyzed and had only a few months. We were told
> that we could, for a while, keep him free of pain with medication.
> We of course did much more than that. With due concern for
> our other animal companions, we determined to indulge Othello's
> every whim, cater to his every need, and dote on him night and
> day. The choice carried high monetary and emotional cost, but such
> was the commitment we had made the very moment Othello walked
> through the door and into our hearts.
> And Othello was worth every penny spent, every tear shed.
> Throughout his ordeal he never complained, never once lost his
> dignity, never surrendered his indomitable spirit. Quite the
> contrary, he displayed nobility rarely found in our own species.
> On a beautiful day in June, Othello lost his gallant fight
> against impossible odds.
> Othello is God's cat now -- lurking in angel-grass ready to
> pounce on celestial mice, safe forever in a place where he never
> again will be cold, or hungry, or hurting.
> Coming across the book, All I Need to Know I Learned From My
> Cat, I realized that what I had learned from Othello was, in
> contrast, distinctively singular. Othello taught me that even
> though he was so very special to us, he really was not all that
> different from other cats. He also taught me that any cat is a
> wonderful creature deserving of our care and love.
> In short, I learned Othello's Lesson -- every cat is special.
> Recently I read that the earliest recorded name for a cat
> comprises two hieroglyphs, that four thousand years ago, meant
> "house" and "divine ruler." Assuming this is so, I marvel at how
> little cats, and our relationship with them, have changed in four millennia.
> Truly Othello was royalty in this house. His namesake was
> Shakespeare's noble but tragic Moor, and no other name would have suited him.
> My wife and I miss him terribly. But we are so much richer
> for having had the brief pleasure of his regal company.
