Chapt. 4 Lessons Learned From a Semi-Paralyzed, Tenacious Cat

     One night at the age of two years old, Alexander the Grey(t) felt the im-pact of a car hitting his backside.  His owner, Arlene, didn't know about this right away.  She wor-ried, when, for an in-terminable day, his mischievous pre-sence was absent.

      The following evening, while cooking dinner, Arlene heard a loud thump.  Somehow, he managed to pull himself up----using only his front paws----onto the roof of her house, reaching the bathroom win-dow on the second floor.  Pushing his way through, he crashed unto the ceramic tile.

       Hearing the commotion she discovered Alex in the bathroom,  Arlene knew by the look in his serious-looking, big round eyes, some-thing wasn't right with her typically frisky, furry friend.  For the vet's office, they flew.

      That night, he was taken to a pet emergency hospital in Berkeley, California; x-rays revealed his hip was dislocated and his spleen torn into three pieces.  Without treatment, he would die within an hour.   Did she need to make a call, they asked?

       No.

      A specialist was called.  Alexander was patched together----Arlene's purse was several thousand dollars lighter, but she was happy to have her grey companion.  Such can be the financial options of a normally frugal, single woman with no kids.........

      This morning, thirteen-and-a-half years later, Alex is at it again with his front paws.

       Dropping by early this morning,  I headed to his death-bed perch: his enormous pillow, topped with an electronically heated blanket.  He was gone.  Fearing the loss of my friend, my heart beat rapidly as I fol-lowed a strewn trail of kibble.

       The kitchen floor was in shambles, kib-ble tossed through-out the floor.  This 

Russian Blue knocked the food bowl over when he rolled off his bed.  He had pulled himself, using only his two front paws----his rear legs are lifeless now----twenty-five feet to the living room sliding glass door, which faces majestic Redwood trees in the backyard.

      There he lay, resting on his front paws.  Peering outside, his grey tail poked through the hole of his Simple Solution doggie diaper; he no longer can jump into the litter box.

      Alex learned in a day how to sit up on his elbows.  Amazing.  Lesson: when my time on earth draws to a close, I pray my determination to make the most of my remaining time will equal his.

      I've been helping Alex's owner.  She's recovering from cancer sur-gery on the front portion of her left ankle.  It's been eleven months.  Recently, her foot has gotten worse.  She's in constant pain. She's been on leave; her employer demands her return.  I know, unbelievable, isn't it?

      I'm in a back room used from time to time.  It's my getaway during moments when Arlene's sleeping, resting, or I need to wait before tak-ing her to one of her multiple doctor's appointments or have time to kill before cooking her a meal.  With an orthopedic oncologist, a radiologist, oxygen hyperbaric chamber treatment doctor, plastic surgeon, general practitioner, oriental medicine doctor, and needed trips for other business, she needs plenty of rides. She's asleep as I write right now.

Alex, during better days.

        Alex is with me, at my feet, curled up, cinnamon roll-like on the floor, his tail covering his nose; he's bliss-ful, even with a cryptococcal infection that makes his nose sound like a coffee percola-tor.  I'm scratching his head, softly pulling the loose skin between his head and one of his ears.  He continues to love this unique massage.  Lesson: there's much to be said about the comfort shared between two friends.