Sixteen years ago, I moved to a new city from
out-of-state, trying to forget an unhappy break-up with a boyfriend and
to make a new start.
I was unemployed and didn't know anyone in the new city. I felt very isolated and very
depressed. To make matters worse, I had moved to an
apartment complex that was predominantly college students
(I didn't know that at the time I moved there). Since I
was far older than college age, this only added to my sense
of isolation. In order to explore other parts of the city,
I started to look at other apartment complexes, with the
idea of having one lined up to move to when my current
lease expired.
On July 4, 1988, I was returning from apartment hunting
when I stopped at a gas station/convenience store to buy
gas. There, in front of the store, was an adorable cat
curled up sleeping. Everyone who walked by stopped to pet
her. So did I. After I paid for my gas, I drove down the
road, thinking about the cat. Then I made a u-turn, went
back to the store and asked the cashier if the cat was
his. He said no, that she was a stray. So I picked her up
and took her back to the apartment. At first I kept her as
an outdoor cat. However, after one cat fight, one bout
with fleas, and one day when she didn't show up, I decided
to keep her as an indoor cat. I named her Erica.
Erica was a dilute calico with huge eyes and the sweetest
disposition I have ever seen. After I adopted her, my life
gradually turned around. I started making friends, I got a
job, and I moved to a part of town that I really liked,
where I am currently living. Gradually, over the years I
became involved in cat rescue, and have rescued and adopted
out many stray cats and kittens. But Erica, my original
cat, remained my favorite.
Almost two years ago, she started to have kidney failure,
and I began treating her with subcutaneous fluids and
special food. Eventually, she started going downhill as
the kidney damage became worse. She passed away on June 8,
2004, at my vet's office. She was physically comfortable
since my veterinarian had her on a heating pad, receiving
fluids. Previously, another vet had thought she was about
20 years old, because she was estimated to be 3-4 years old
when I found her 16 years ago.
My other cats always like to get in my kitchen drawers and
scatter miscellaneous papers on my kitchen floor. These
papers include vet records, letters, cards, etc. The
morning after Erica died, I came downstairs in my house to
fix coffee.
There, on the kitchen floor, was only one piece of paper.
It was a handwritten note that I had written years ago and
that I had forgotten about. It was the famous quotation
about cats by the French writer Theophile Gautier:
"Who can believe that there is no soul behind those
luminous eyes?"
Erica was sending me a message.
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