The Miraculous Salvation of Our Unlucky Black Cat

“I think he’s mad, Mum,” I said sadly, gazing at our black cat, Jed who lay sprawled in a pool of sunlight. “it’s the only thing that makes sense. I guess cats can have mental illnesses, we just don’t think about it.”

“I suppose so,” said Mum. “Any way it’s a huge problem. He's making us entirely unpopular in the neighbourhood.”

The source of our worry gave a contented little grunt and rolled over to better absorb the sun’s rays.

“He’s not entirely normal,” I said. “Even the vet suggested we put him on a mild sedative.”

Mum shuddered. “Think of the cost,” she groaned. “As it is, we seem to live at the vet.”

Jed was a rescue cat. Although he was affectionate and gentle with us, some strange habits made us wonder about his past. His obvious panic over empty food bowls between meals and an insistence on taking his water from a dripping tap made us suspect neglect. “I don’t think he’s been abused,” I said slowly. “But I do wonder if he belonged to someone who was ill and forgot to feed and water him regularly.”

“And now this nasty business with the neighbours,” said Mum, gloomily. “It’s so embarrassing.” For several months, Jed would tear out of our property and stay away for hours at a time. We had described this behaviour humorously as David raiding in the Negev. It lost its jocund element when a delegation of politely irate neighbours, (they were Australians after all and endowed with courtesy), arrived to inform us that Jed really was out raiding and instead of biblical philistines, his victims were their cats and dogs. “People are shooting me nasty looks when I walk down the road,” said Mum.

I bit my lip nervously. “You know we can’t send him back to the shelter. He’s already suffering from some kind of feline PTSD. It would be too cruel to send him back there.”

Mum sighed. “Someone suggested a cage attached to the house, but he’d hate that.”

“Yeah, and we can’t put an add in the paper because he looks so healthy. It would be a really mean trick to play on someone. What if a pensioner wanted him? They’d never be able to afford the vet bills.”

Mum glanced at him. “We have to do something. People love their animals. For some people, a pet is the only family they have. We can’t keep an animal in the area who is upsetting everybody else.”

“Then I can only think of one solution,” I said sadly.

“I’m afraid so,” said Mum. “It feels awfully mean, but it’s got to be done. And it’ll be painless. I’ll make the appointment.But with a different vet this time. It’s too insensitive to ask the regular to do it.”

♥♥♥

The vet lifted Jed out of his basket. He looked startled, decided he liked her and snuggled down into her arms. “He looks healthy,” she said.

“He’s inclined to allergic reactions and we think he has a mental illness,” said Mum.“He has fits and beats up all the other animals in the neighbourhood.”

“Have you considered re-homing him?” asked the vet.

“We don’t want to re-expose him to the trauma of the shelter and we don’t want to saddle someone with his enormous vet bills,” said Mum.

“Alright,” said the vet. “I understand. Do you want to be with him for the end?”

“No,” said Mum. “Thank you.”

We got in the car and drove for home. Past the filling station we realised the deed had probably been done. The situation seemed to warrant a comment so, with a level of control that would have pleased my very british ancestors, I said, “fancy a cup of tea when we get home, Mum?”

Mum, equally worthy of her very british blood, replied, “sounds lovely.”

It was as we were pouring the tea that the phone rang. It was the vet. She did not sound calm. She was not maintaining a stiff upper lip. “I haven’t done it!” she said. “Are you SURE you can’t re-home him?”

“We don’t want to dump his vet bills on someone else,” explained Mum, patiently.

“What if I found someone who wouldn’t find vet bills a problem?” gulped the vet.

“Where would you find someone like that?” asked Mum.

“Well,” said the vet, “it wouldn’t worry me.”

This is how we found ourselves driving back into town with Jed’s bed, hypoallergenic cat food and cat toys. Mum signed the paperwork for his adoption by the vet and the secretary tore up the papers Mum had previously signed for his death.

It is written somewhere that God is saddened by every sparrow’s death. Apparently, black cats worry him too. And if he’ll go to that much effort to save a troubled cat, imagine what he’ll do for the heartbroken human who cries out to him for help. There is no day so bleak that God is not in control. And even if you’re marked out for destruction, with all the papers signed, God can still intervene and give you a family instead.

Art work and writing are the intellectual property of R.M. Hamilton and may not be reproduced without written consent.