The Adventures of Jeri the Cat, Pt. 3

A photographer with some skill with a paint program might take a sideways picture of a cat. He might load this picture into a computer and bring it up in a paint program. Next, he would create a layer on top of the background picture and on this layer he would draw a thin line along the top of the fur, running from just behind the ears, down the neck, across the back, and off the tail. He would then create another layer, and write the letter m, many times, along this line. Then he would delete the first layer with the line. Thus, he has a pretty accurate picture of a purring cat.

Now pick up this cat, and stroke it, gently, repeatedly. Start just behind the ears, down the neck, across the back, and off the end of the tail. Sure, you'll knock off the m's but the cat will eventually purr, and create more. You'll feel them coming out of the spine. Stroking a purring cat is running through the M's. It's the feline species best way of chillin out, of letting you know they like what you are doing for them. From 6 oz babies to 300 lb. Siberian Tigers, they all do it. No one quite knows the mechanics of purring. Is it part of the breathing apparatus, special muscles, no one quite knows. Some do it just with the m's you feel as you stroke. Some add noise. My cat SnagglePuss made a lot of noise. I called him the Motor Man, because he always made noise as he purred. He let me know he was one happy fella.

One trait cats share with people is having their own ways of being happy. It's the special thing they always like to do to soothe their souls. SnagglePuss always liked to jump up on the armrest of the lazy boy when I was in it, and start purring. This was my signal to move over sideways just enough to let him sit between my leg and the armrest. Body heat on one side, and armrest on the other, this guy thought he was in heaven, so he purred good and loud.

Now Jeri just liked the stroking. You could wear your arm out stroking this girl and she would crank out the m's for you, letting you know you had made her happy. She really appreciated it. She would walk out of range for a few seconds, and then come back for more. She always knew she could have it. She had trained her human well.

The felines in my life have always been an easy to please bunch. Food bowl, water dish, litter box and a place to purr were stock items in life with cats. Take care of them and they always took care of me. Life always has more to it than physical, mechanical needs, but watching out for them physically usually leads to better sustenance in the intangibles, like comfort when you're feeling down. A cat knows when their human needs them to come close and just sit, and be there. They don't understand words, but they pick up on the tones very well. They can hear your soul.

And you can't get selfish with them, either. They need to be stroked; they need to feel like you need them, sometimes. They need to be watched out for too, and to let them go when they make it clear that just living is too much pain. I noticed SnagglePuss was having some trouble stretching, it seemed. I took him to his doctor and the doctor tested him. I asked the doctor "what's wrong with my boy?'" The doctor said "your boy's diabetic".
So, it's coming on with the needles, the insulin, the hiding from being stuck, etc. This lasted for a few months, and he showed some imporovement. But basically I couldn't stop his pain. After three months, I saw him really having trouble doing things he used to do with ease. He'd also estranged himself from Jeri, because she couldn't really understand why he was being so mean to her. So, one night I made up my mind he needed to move on to his next life. I took him to the vet the next day, and she agreed there was really no fixing this back to where he would have a good life again.

She gave him the initial shot, which he made a lot of noise about. But I held him still, then took him out on the porch so it coud move in on him, and chill him out. After 10 minutes I brought him back in to send him off. I put him on the table, where he sat with his eyes wide open. As the next shots moved him on to cat heaven, his eyes never closed. I left and brought Jeri over to say goodbye, and she was hissing at him. I poked him here and there, but he never responded. He just sat there with his eyes open. She eventually realized he wasn't there anymore. It made her quiet. Then she said goodbye. I picked her up, the vet picked him up and she looked at him one last time, as he was limp in the vet's hands. Then we both went home and had many a good cry. We will never forget our SnagglePuss.

That was 12 years ago, and now Jeri goes up the steps one at a time. She is now 111 feline years old, but she can still jump up on the bed. I have a box on one side, so she can go from that to nightstand, to bedtop. She never sleeps overnight with me, but she will curl up and nap during the day sometimes.

I remember going to cat shows and seeing the felines in their cages, something Jeri hated with a passion. Caging her was a most hideous act, and she was always angry whenever I picked her up from shots. But one thing I noticed about these much-doted felines is their long names. Jeri was just as special, sweet, pretty and wonderful as they were, so I gave her a long name. Noting her four white paws, I called her Jeri the Kitten, with the Little White Mittens. Thus she ever shall be!