This blog started when I wanted to chronicle the lives of three little kittens found in a well house. The person who took one of those little kittens later called me to say that they had a little feral kitty that needed the same type of nursing. The only thing was when they brought him over he was not a week old, he was 4 or 5 weeks old and so close to death I had no idea whether he would make to the evening much less to the next day.
Throughly emaciated, he could not stand or move. If you picked him up and set him down he just crumpled like a wet dish rag. He did make it through the night though, and the next day as well. Each day getting a little stronger. As soon as he was able to stand and walk he hid; in my chair, and that is where he stayed for the next 4 mos with the exception of food and potty breaks. There were also the monthly shots and his neutering but other than that he was invisible.
It had been decided on the first day of his arrival that his stay was temporary. Only until he was nursed back to health and a home was found. Time passed, many ads were placed but unlike the 3 kitties there were no takers. He grew bigger and less likely to find a home. Then, permission was granted for him to stay.
In trying to describe him one would first have the impression that he was black, but upon closer examination he was actually a black on black striped cat. Not quite short haired but definitely not long haired his cost was plush, rich and satiny to the touch.
Upon finally deciding to emerge, he became my cat, following me wherever I went, coming whenever I called. I found I looked forward to his company. I talked to him, snuggled with him and delighted in running my hands through his fur just as he ran his life force in and out of my heart. I was amazed at how quickly I became deeply attached.
Too soon it was all over. He got sick and was dead. My beautiful healthy cat was gone and the gaping hole he left in my heart would not mend. Tears spring to my eyes as I type this remembering the pain of his loss. Why? I can not pin point a particular reason why he touched me so. I have had and lost many animals over the course of my lifetime. I have loved many of them deeply so why did Charley cause me such intense pain with his death.
Was it because we had such a short time together? In actuality only about 8 months as he spent the first 4 months inside my chair. Was it because he had chosen me to be his, wanted to be with me, followed me? What was that magic, that spark, that stole my heart? Whatever it was, when he died it left a wound so raw that comparing it to having the skin shaved from your fingertips (a recent accident of mine), or walking barefoot on sharp stones or through a sticker patch barefoot does not compare to the excruciating pain I felt
the morning he died. He is buried by my garden, close to Frankie (my Sounce Conure) and Jay, Jay (my gander) both who passed earlier. I planted a Wisteria above him. It will wander as he did in life.
After a week of crying I prayed for the pain to be lessened. I am sure time would have eventually dampened it. It only took 30 some odd years before I could talk about my grandma again after she died so.....
I am just too emotional, when I love, I love deeply.
A week after he died I found a one week old kitten in the Kingdom Hall parking lot. The only place I could have found a cat/ kitten where I might have been allowed to keep it.
He will be another post, but suffice it to say the tears have diminished, although Bucky is frequently called Charley.
