Every cat is special

That particular night we were not sure what we had seen, or indeed if we had seen anything.

At first he seemed more shadow than substance, allowing us only the occasional glimpse.  But there definitely was something out there, and that something was feline - a cat black as the darkest night, illuminated by two golden eyes, half-moons at their centres - wise eyes that we later discovered seemed to peer into our very souls.

We named our mysterious night visitor Othello.  We could not have known at the time that his name was so well chosen.

For some time, our relationship with Othello was unpredictable. One day he might allow a momentary touch, the next day he would keep his distance.

Then, on one remarkable day in September, Othello apparently decided we met his qualifications for companions, and simply walked through the door into his new home.

Within a few days we took Othello to our veterinarian, where he tested positive for feline leukaemia.  After agonizing over the decision, because of the possible danger to our other cats, we decided to take the risk and keep Othello with us.

We have never regretted our decision.

Othello became the most affectionate cat imaginable, gentle and loving, almost as if he were making up for lost time.

One by one our other cats accepted Othello, but the most remarkable relationship from the very beginning was struck between Othello and Barclay, our year-old Sheltie.  They quickly forged an almost inseparable bond and thus became the quintessential odd couple.

For Othello, being held for the first time in his life was a unique sensation, one he came to enjoy immensely.  Lying supine in the crook of his bearer's elbow, he would coolly survey his new surroundings, using subtle body movements to steer his bearer where he wanted to go, looking like a benign little black Buddha reclining rather immodestly in their arms.

For that matter, most of the things more fortunate cats enjoy were, for Othello, a new and unique sensation.  We were somewhat surprised to discover how much he enjoyed being brushed.  Sitting as if posing for a Steinlen poster, he would in the process of our brushing him slowly dissolve like India ink onto the carpet.  But the real payoff for us during these moments was the look he would give us - that wonderful look only a cat can give, that says unequivocally, "I love you."

Not a day passed the next few months that Othello did not repay in some way all our efforts to woo him.

Then March came, escorted by the ill wind that blows no good, and Othello began to show the first serious symptoms of his illness. At the suggestion of our vet we carried this ailing but marvellous cat, "tame" for only a short while, almost two hundred miles round trip to Texas A&M Veterinary Hospital.  True to form, Othello made the trip with flying colours, charming one attending veterinarian so much that on his discharge sheet she noted that he was "one of the sweetest cats she had ever worked with" - a sentiment previously voiced by our own veterinarian and her staff.

But the diagnosis, though not wholly unexpected, was nevertheless heartbreaking.  Othello had spinal lymphoma.  He would slowly become paralyzed and had only a few months.  We were told that we could, for a while, keep him free of pain with medication.

We of course did much more than that.  With due concern for our other animal companions, we determined to indulge Othello's every whim, cater to his every need, and dote on him night and day.  The choice carried high monetary and emotional cost, but such was the commitment we had made the very moment Othello walked through the door and into our hearts.

And Othello was worth every penny spent, every tear shed.

Throughout his ordeal he never complained, never once lost his dignity, never surrendered his indomitable spirit.  Quite the contrary, he displayed nobility rarely found in our own species.

On a beautiful day in June, Othello lost his gallant fight against impossible odds.

Othello is God's cat now -- lurking in angel-grass ready to pounce on celestial mice, safe forever in a place where he never again will be cold, or hungry, or hurting.

Coming across the book, *All I Need to Know I Learned From My Cat, I realized that what I had learned from Othello was, in contrast, distinctively singular.  Othello taught me that even though he was so very special to us, he really was not all that different from other cats.  He also taught me that any cat is a wonderful creature deserving of our care and love.

In short, I learned Othello's Lesson - every cat is special.

Recently I read that the earliest recorded name for a cat comprises two hieroglyphs, that four thousand years ago meant "house" and "divine ruler."  Assuming this is so, I marvel at how little cats, and our relationship with them, have changed in four millennia.

Truly Othello was royalty in this house.  His namesake was Shakespeare's noble but tragic Moor, and no other name would have suited him.

My wife and I miss him terribly.  But we are so much richer for having had the brief pleasure of his regal company.

  -- Larry McCarley  <mccarley @ cord.org>

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Larry is a retired teacher, federal employee, and consultant.  He lives with his wife, four cats, three dogs and a Love Bird in Waco, Texas.  You can check out the book Larry mentions in his story, All I Need to Know I Learned from My Cat, by clicking here:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0894808249/heart/ref=nosim

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