All Things Great And Small

When I was little, one of my favorite books was "All Things Bright and Beautiful" by James Herriot. It was a collection of stories from an Irish veterinarian. I was captivated by stories like "Mick the Dreamer"(the border collie with eyelashes growing inward, who slept all the time because closing his eyes helped the pain) and "Henry the Lamb"(A lamb whose mother refused to let him nurse. They found a ewe who had just lost her baby, tied the wool around Henry, and the two lost sheep formed a great bond). My favorite thing about these stories was the way he described the animals-just like they were people. His love for animals was so clear when you read his books that it was infectious. He was like the Mister Rogers of critters.

He was probably one of the contributing factors to my love of all things great and small, but always having something furry around probably helped. Growing up, we always had a cat, and sometimes a dog. It actually feels a little unnatural for me to not share a living space with a cat. The boy and I had talked about it, and we(he) decided that our apartment was too small to share, and that we(he really, really) didn't want to get a cat.(He begged me not to get one.)

But somehow, when I visited an old friend of the family, I wasn't expecting to walk away with a cat. This woman and her husband live on an old used car lot, where cats kind of collect over time. I've been going there since before I was born, and a large portion of my cats came from this place. My last cat, Pudge(born in a snowstorm, the last surviving member of her litter) came from here. There were a select few cats that were allowed in the house, and one of those was Duncan.

I vaguely remember Duncan from my childhood. She's dark gray, and ridiculously sweet. A little older, but super. So, when this dirty, skinny thing approached me as I was leaving, I couldn't reconcile that with the cat I remembered.She meowed at me in the most pathetic manner possible and waited. Well, if you're not feral, and I can pick you up, I'll take you home and find you a place to live. And sure enough, she let me pick her up. She pushed her forehead against the inside of my arm(which in cat language means "you make me feel safe"). How could I ignore the confidence of this cat? I loaded her up, and home we went.

When my boy came home, he was... displeased. I swore that she'd only be there for a few days, and look how sweet she is! But I promise I won't keep her... Giving a cat away is tough business. People want kittens, not older cats. People don't want to keep a cat on a deworming program for a week.

I lucked out about a week later. A fellow from the theatre had been looking for a cat(or, since he's new in town and super introverted, maybe just something to love). As soon as he picked Duncan up, I knew we were golden. I hope she's happy in her new home; He seemed like a cat-spoiler, which is what she deserves after the past year. She'll fatten up, get some good coat-building nutrients, and be a proper pampered puss-puss.

I'd like to think that James Herriot would smile at my efforts to save even one thing bright and beautiful. All pets deserve to be taken care of(humans made them, and we need to take care of them accordingly).

I pulled her out of a bad situation and found her a good home. And if I forgot to mention to her new owner that she only uses the litter box some of the time, who'd blame me?