Fall Go Boo

I have this gorgeous cat named Andrew whom we call Boo. Actually, I have three cats, but Boo's personality is such that he is almost always singled out for the telling of a funny story or anecdote. Let me tell you a little bit about Boo, and maybe then you'll come to see why he is such a special kitty.

Boo Kitty is six years old and comes from a long line of fat cats. He tips the scales at forty pounds and he is as active and agile as The Flying Wallendas. With sky blue eyes, and a seal and cream coat, he is handsome and debonair. He is playful and sweet--a feline Fat Albert. He is a beach ball that purrs. A large vocabulary of meows and purrs allows him to talk incessantly and often times at high volumes. In fact, talking is one of his favorite pastimes, right up there with eating; he'll run faster than FloJo when it comes to getting some food.

Boo is also very intelligent and friendly. He loves people and other animals. He especially loves to be petted. In fact, if he had his way, I'd stay home all day and do nothing but pet him. If you aren't petting him in the right place, he will take his paw and guide your hand to where he wants you to pet him.

Once, by accident, I shut another cat in the closet. I didn't understand why Boo began meowing and clawing at the door. "Boo! I yelled. You know you're not allowed in there!" Sitting down in front of the closet, he refused to budge. Finally, I opened the closet and Phoenix, the neighbor's kitten, ran out. "Oh Boo! I exclaimed, hugging and petting him. I'm sorry for yelling at you. Thank you for telling me that Phoenix was in there." A loud rumbling purr told me that my apology was accepted.

Boo always waits by the door for me to come home, so I knew that something was wrong when I arrived home one cold, snowy evening to find him nowhere in sight. I quickly glanced around my tiny studio apartment. He wasn't eating nor was he in the bathroom. No fluffy bear rug of a cat lay spread-eagled on the couch, nor was he perched on the windowsill, his favorite spot. I walked over to the window. Something wasn't quite right. Peering closer, I noticed with growing alarm that the screen had been knocked out of place. "Oh my God!" I gasped. My heart dropped somewhere past my toes and the dread washed through me like hot electric waves. "He has to be dead, I reasoned. A cat can't fall three stories and survive."

Suddenly, I heard a sound. "Could it be?" I wondered. I poked my head out of the window and called tentatively, "Boo?"

"Meow!" There was a small reply.

"Boo, where are you?" I looked around hoping to see him in the dark.

"MMIIAAOOWW!"

"I'll be right down, sweetie," I hollered. Grabbing a blanket, I raced out the door, pounded down the stairs, banged out the front door and sped into the parking lot. Noticing a red Hyundai with a large dent in its top, I ran over and knelt down. There was Boo, trembling and frightened. There wasn't any blood, but he was badly scraped. After putting him on the blanket and taking him upstairs, I called my mum.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"Boo fell out the window. He seems to be somewhat okay, but maybe we need to take him in, just in case."

"Meet me downstairs and we'll take him to the vet."

My mother arrived five minutes later with my Dad in tow. We reached the vet in record time. Dr. Chamberlain examined Boo and took X-rays. "Well now, he said, returning with the X-rays. He didn't break any bones but he does have some fluid on his heart. It may cause some problems. Maybe you'd better think about put-"

"Excuse me Doctor, I interrupted, but you're not putting this cat to sleep! He'll be just fine. All he needs is rest and love." "Come on Boo, I said as I picked him up. We're going home. You'll be just fine."

Boo recovered quickly and uneventfully. I slept on the floor beside him that first night praying that he would pull through. I never realized how much I loved him until then. The next day, I stayed home from work. I wanted to be around in case anything happened. At first he just rested on the couch, but later he began picking at his food and drinking small sips of water. Slowly, he began walking around as if testing his legs for wobbliness. Then, he practiced jumping from the couch to the floor, and the floor to his favorite chair. Gradually, Boo began transforming from a frightened, traumatized cat to the sweet roly-poly that I knew and loved. Breathing a prayer of thanks, I vowed to be more careful about that window--insisting that the manager fix it soon, and afterward, never leaving it open more than a few inches. I'd create the safest home possible for him.

The next day, at my boss' suggestion, I took Boo to the office. He was his old self again, running and jumping, purring and meowing, and eating and holding court. When we got home, and Boo had settled himself on the windowsill, I went looking for that red Hyundai that had broken his fall. I looked and asked around for two weeks, but could find neither the car nor its owner. In fact, I never saw the car again, and I still wonder what became of it, and what its owner would think if he knew that a falling cat had damaged his car.