My cat Blizzard's story

Friday, 10/19/2001, I scribbled the bulk of this, Blizzard’s story, knowing in my head, as I hoped in my heart for the opposite, how it would end.

I loved you, Blizzard. You blew into my life in a blizzard, 5 years ago, 1996. I wasn’t home. My daughter chased, cornered, and then flopped on you in the snow with a blanket (you were wild and frightened). She then literally threw you into my bathroom and shut the door. I returned from work to discover a small, wild, starving, black cat.

I proceeded to tame you like the Little Prince tamed his rose, for which he too would be responsible forever. I gave you the ‘glove treatment’ which encouraged you to submit to the human touch, to affection and domestication. I molded you into an amiable and loveable cat over a long period of time, after which you purred only for me. Only I could bathe your skinny, emaciated body. Before me, a dark duckling turned into the silky swan. I only clipped your nails, clipped out clump after clump of matted fur. I only could comb you, clean your ears. Forget the liquid worm medicine; you spit it across the kitchen counter. Forget popping a pill down your throat; you ‘freaked’ out. But because I tamed you, you meant me no harm. You ignored our dogs. “I need no dog in my life,” you said, ‘just you.” You slowly recovered, gaining weight and grace. You shunned the visiting little grandchildren trying to play ‘cat catcher.’ You visited your cat box and scratching post regularly. You were exclusively my ebony, gold-eyed, perfect cat.

You my Blizzard, liked to pluck bobby pins from a page of a book I was reading. You were rarely sick, but a serious ear infection necessitated a costly trip to the vet and weeks of curative therapy. You watched me make the bed in the morning and gave quarter to my husband only at night when you play-wrestled with him, sometimes drawing blood.- but not too seriously. Never with me. You begged animatedly for venison treats. Typically, you appreciated, jerky, chicken, mayonnaise, cheese, mackerel, salmon and tuna as supplements to your normal diet. You never missed the 11 P.M. ritualistic, cheetos snack. How can I forget? My head was your security pillow. My hellish red cat picked on you, so I needed to console you when the ‘cat from Hell’ launched another attack. I could always count on your purr because you were a ‘purrfect,’ neutered Persian cat.

Then I made the mistake - to open the door to the outside world. You took to the outdoors with a roll on the sunny cement and a romp in grass. You presented me with a vole, then many voles, no one ever relinquished. So after a brief time, after 5 years of a perfect secure indoor life, the freedom of a summer outdoors proved your undoing. I wasn’t home, again. I knew your request was answered or you somehow escaped on 10/17/2001. I trusted that you would return for your evening meal. I missed you that sunny, pretty day. I searched and searched, called and called for my Blizzard but you never answered.

The weather turned wintery. I cried for you in your absence. About a week later, October 26th, (I already recognized that you were gone) with a start, I discovered your wet, cold body resting before my foot under the spirea bush in front of my house. I screamed. I cried ever deeper. What happened to my Blizzard?

I buried you next to your recently deceased, old, harmless, sooty Shar-pei home companion, Hop-Sing. Both of you are symbolically protected there by a statue of St. Francis. Eventually we’ll meet again. Perhaps I’ll learn how and why you deserved to die (or maybe I’ll not care to know). But what I do know is that I miss you because I loved you and tamed you like the Little Prince tamed his rose. You outpoured love. You didn’t deserve to be taken from me so young.