I scooped her up and ran upstairs. I put her down and tweaked her leg and it just hung there with her paw curled beneath her. She just glared at me, telling me that professional care was required at once, the expensive sort. Honey was debiting my bank account with her eyes. After grabbing a novel for the waiting room, I packed her into her pet taxi and we were off. It had to be serious, since she was too upset to stick her paws out of the holes in the door to her carrier.
We were at the clinic for a good two hours. I spent a king’s ransom on x-rays alone. Her leg was broken, just as I feared. The x-rays revealed that she had been shot with a pellet gun; once in her right shoulder and once in her abdomen. I stood there in the examination room, staring at the ghostly image of Honey’s skeleton on the wall. “Someone shot my cat?” I whispered. The doctor nodded and said that this was happening all the time. He went on to say that both pellets exited, and the stomach wound was minor as that pellet just grazed the fat pad. Some metal fragments were visible in the shoulder area, but luckily her internal organs were spared. The doctor assured me that Honey would live, but that she might lose the leg.
They don’t do fracture repairs at the emergency clinic, so I would have to take her to a regular vet on Monday. I drove her back home in a daze and spent the weekend touching her paw at the end of her pink-bandaged leg, making her flex her claws. I saw a marathon of America’s Next Top Model and cried along whenever another girl was cut from the herd. Then someone would call and get the bad news. “Do you want to watch obscure films and eat some Baklava?” “Oh, no thank you. I’d rather watch girls bawl in front of hard-faced judges and try to stimulate Honey’s leg.” It was a weekend to remember.
I found a vet who told me he could save her leg, and learned how to squirt medicine into my cat’s mouth twice daily. All my friends know how much I adore my cat. When I was telling Cyndi about Honey being shot we were on the phone and we were both crying. I think that each and every one of my friends breathed a sigh of relief when they found out that she wasn’t going to be an amputee.
Shortly thereafter Henry moved out; I had known since Memorial Day that it was only a matter of time and circumstance. I painted the apartment, and took Honey to the vet at insane hours of the morning. This whole experience shot a sliver of “pissed-off” into my demeanor. I work in customer service for a prominent satellite television company and sometimes while trying to explain billing to someone with a passel of brats squalling in the background, I wanted to throw my headset across the room. Luckily, I get free television service as one of my perks so when I was too poor to go out I still had syndicated cartoons to watch.
I used to put baby bonnets on Honey during parties, to her chagrin. I have photos of her sporting New Year’s Eve tiaras as well. Last Halloween I got her a witch outfit at the dollar store and managed to get the pointy hat on her but she drew the line at donning the cape.
Honey in her witch outfit during Halloween
Today, it’s like it never happened. She had to wear a pin in her shoulder for two months, but Honey has regained full use of her leg. She hates loud noises even more than she used to, but I can live with that. Usually I don’t even think of how I once dropped a thousand dollars to have her put back together. I still daydream of finding the culprit, just so I could send him, or her, a picture of Honey with a note saying something like: “You missed!”
- by Jasmine Kinnear
Four little Persians, but only one looked in my direction. I extended a tentative finger and two soft paws clung to it. There was a contented sound of purring, I suspect on both our parts. - George Freedley
During my years of breeding and feline consulting I have met literally hundreds, if not thousands of people. From those purchasing my kitten books to others who have passed through my cattery, they all share one objective: to locate their own Feline Soul Mate.
It remains a mystery why one kitten will be selected over another. As a breeder I’ve witnessed several cases of love at first sight for both the kitten and their buyer. Although it may appear a simple matter of chance coupled with good timing, I believe there is Universal intervention involved. While selling litters I’ve always been able to identify the difference between those seeking their Feline Soul Mate from another only desiring the presence of a kitten in their home.
I have seen buyers overwhelmed when attempting to select their ideal kitten in a room full of identically coloured babies. Some buyers are so totally focused on a single colour or sex that they totally neglect to consider the kitten’s personality.
I must confess though that this is precisely how I chose my own Feline Soul Mate, my precious Himalayan Caterina. I was totally focused on buying a Seal Point female and in all honesty, it wasn’t love at first sight for either of us. However within several hours of her presence in my home, I quickly realized how blessed I had been. She was the last kitten available, the only female and the only Seal Point Himalayan mature enough to leave her cattery. In retrospect it was Universal intervention that she became my cat and throughout her life we shared a profound emotional connection.
It is always a delight to meet former buyers many years later in chance encounters. However they usually recognize me, as I wasn’t blessed with a good memory for recalling either people’s names or faces. Strangely enough though, I rarely forget my many purebred kittens, and in chance encounters I’m able to quickly recall the names given to them by their new owners.
Such an unexpected meeting occurred some months ago while I was making a deposit at the bank. I had just bought a large bag of cat food and placed it on the counter while I was speaking to the young woman serving me. She mentioned that she loved cats too and we shared a few words of feline fancy.
“What kind of cat do you have?” I asked.
“A Himalayan male,” she replied.
As with any true breeder, I inquired from which cattery she’d purchased her kitten. I was interested as I had once specialized in Himalayans in my own breeding program.
She couldn’t recall the name of the cattery where she’d made the purchase however she mentioned the breeder lived in my area of the city.
“I just love him,” she gushed. “Honestly, I’ve never owned such a special cat before. It’s rather an unusual story because he was the one who really picked me.”
She smiled fondly reflecting on the moment before continuing, “The breeder had a younger litter of Blue Persians and several older Himalayan babies that were also available. I was a little overwhelmed because there were kittens everywhere and I couldn’t make a decision on which one was right for me. The breeder told me to take my time and come back in a few days which I thought was rather considerate. I decided that she was probably right and reached for my purse to leave. And there, tucked inside, was this adorable kitten sound asleep. I thought it must be fate and that he had to be the right one; truthfully I’ve never regretted my decision.”
Gina’s kitten, Sebastian
I stared at her in disbelief. Although I didn’t recognize her, she had purchased that kitten from me over ten years before. I then provided her with the names of his mother and father including the name she had given her kitten. I remembered her shear delight in discovering Sebastian sleeping in her purse which had been left open in the viewing room.
Gina had gently removed him from her purse and I left them alone to privately bond and cuddle together. So many