The Cat that Loved

I woke up to the sweet cry of Sophie. She won't come into my bedroom to sleep on my bed yet she'll curl up with me and sniff my eyelids or just raise her head to look into my eyes. She's not the most beautiful specimen, she's not a purebred, she's not a cat I even knew until, my sister collapsed in a shopping mall buying Christmas gifts for her family. She brought us together a year ago.

Sophie lived with my sister and her brother cat, Sebastian, in an old apartment building which, in it's day, hosted Hollywood Stars and people with prominent names. It was my sister's home for many years. She lived alone, well, not completely as she always had her cats, 'or her kids' as she called them.

It was a year ago I received that horrible call from my co-worker, 'Your mother wants you to call home, it's an emergency'. I knew it was my father. My parents are at the age where you dread the 'call'. But, when I called, it was to be my sister, Lynsey, who mysteriously collapsed while doing her favorite thing at her favorite time of the year. She is the embodiment of Christmas cheer.

I don't remember the drive to the hospital in the rain. I don't remember going up the elevator and quietly praying, 'be all right, be all right'. I didn't feel the weight of the world on my shoulders as I was so alone, so unsure of doing the right thing...whatever that was?

I ran to people in uniform who I didn't know but expected answers from. They just sent me to more elevators and other floors. Where was she? Was she awake? Did she fall? It'll be all right. Of course, it will all be all right. My parents were to come later as they lived further away. I worried about them driving in such bad weather. And then I met a young nurse. She must have been in training as she only looked about 19 years of age. What would she know about 'things like this'. She told me my sister was in surgery. SURGERY? How could that be..she fell. The young nurse showed me to a room with a television and magazines. She said it may take a long time, she was bleeding, hemorrhaging in her brain. I think I gasped..I don't know. I just felt numb. Why? Why would she be suffering. Not Lynsey? She was our Christmas girl, she made us laugh and forced us to play her joyous games with tambourines and hand-clappers. She was Christmas.

I waited. A nurse asked if I would go through her purse to see if she was on any medication. Was she? We spoke often and she came to my home for dinner about every 6 weeks. I knew work was not good and she was 'more emotional' than usual, but she wasn't sick..was she? Had I missed something? I should know ... I am HER BROTHER..I should know.

My parents arrived as confused as I was. My older sister was also there for support. I was relieved to see her. I needed my family with me.

In the purse I found the most bizarre things... from 'survival supplies' to bottles of strong pain killers, Tylenol 3 and more. I gave them to the nurse. She asked me if my sister had been 'different' lately. I told her no..then, I said yes. She had been different. Was this why she was now in surgery. Had her brain been compromised with mixed signals? She had recently gone to Church...she never had before. She had been calling us to tell us she loved us. We knew she loved us but she left messages and ended each call with 'I love you very much'... why? Did she know something. I felt very alone with a building full of kind people.

Hours went by. My father escaped through a hockey game on the television and my sister kept getting updates from the nurses. My mother just looked frightened. I don't know what I looked like, but I knew I was so tired.

The gurney was pushed through the doors and there she was. Her jaw was slack and tubes were shoved down her throat. Bandages wrapped around her head and her belongings in my care... to do what? To take home and wash her clothes and protect her personal belongings.

I remembered her cats. Who would feed the cats? I left to go home and call her dearest friends. It felt so wrong to share this kind of news. This is not the call you make to young friends. After this, I went to her home. It was a maze of her life. From spoon collections to puzzles in frames, ceramic dolls and pictures of family. Then I heard it, the timid 'meow' coming from the bedroom. One of the cats was calling out.

Weeks went by, my sister seemed to be getting better until they discovered a huge tumor. It was cancerous. She only lived two months. I had driven back and forth over the bridge that separated our two homes, to be with her every chance I could and to make sure the cats were cared for. It was on a day when I had read about my sister's personal suffering. She had left a written note in the clutter on her desk...'the headaches, the screaming headaches'...when her female cat, Sophie jumped on my lap and purred so loudly I though her little heart would fall onto my lap.

I stroked her gently , then I lifted her small frame to my face and cried into her fur. She just allowed it. I knew she was so loved by my sister and I thought that maybe her love could make it better...a silly notion but I had nothing left but silly notions and magical cures. I just held Sophie and rocked with her. I don't know how long I did this. Then, I drove over that bridge for the 48th time.

Lynsey died exactly two months after she collapsed. She had gone to our last Christmas. She had been elegant, charming and thoughtful, as always. But now, she was gone. Sophie came with me to my house. The brother cat had hid most of the time and was taken elsewhere. Sophie is on my lap now as I type this. She looks at me as if she knows why I am sad, why I am hurting. She is the piece of my sister that comforts me. Yes, I have my memories, yes I have my photos, yes I have the sound of my sister laughing and talking about how wonderful Christmas is...and it is. I play her music, the old albums with White Christmas and I'll Be Home for Christmas...but best of all, I have Sophie..the warm body of the cat she loved and now loves me.

Life is a journey, life is fleeting. This will be a very hard Christmas for my family but, when I am hurting in my heart I can hold Sophie and know that my sister was about LOVE.

Beetlemania

Remember your first driving lesson, then that horrid test and finally 'getting your first beloved car'? Well, I don't. I remember bits and pieces because I was so traumatized by the driving lessons. So let's start there!

Yes, I went to the 6 week course to become a magical sixteen-year old 'safe' driver. We know that lasts for a about a week before we get our first speeding ticket. I was in Richmond, which was full of deep and dark ditches at the time. My co-pilot was supportive and thank GOD HE HAD A WHEEL TOO... because the first lesson was in a blizzard. My luck. No lines, no sense of safety...just sliding and huge ditches on either side. I needed diapers, I was that tense.

But, I passed! Then it was onto the 'test'. The written part wasn't so bad. I didn't even cheat. I really knew my stuff after hours of letting my sister question me over and over. The actual test was like passing a kidney stone. My 'Test Teacher' was a tall man with a lot of attitude and a pipe. He asked me if I MINDED HIM SMOKING HIS PIPE DURING THE TEST. Really? REALLY? That's even permitted? I actually said, "YES, I DO MIND" , and after that I knew I would fail. He would surmise that I was a cocky, lippy teen.

I don't even remember the driven test. I was in shock. But, when we landed back at the school of young drivers, he tapped his filthy pipe out the window and told me I had scored 98%! Maybe being a honest was refreshing to THE INHALER. He added that I was the best parallel Parker he had seen in weeks. NOTE: DURING MY DRIVING LESSONS THAT WAS MY WORST SKILL. Life really is a roulette wheel on any given day!

Then, it was time to get my first car. I was so excited I almost broke out in shingles. Lucky for me it was just an anxious rash. My best friend (a drug dealer- but I didn't know), helped me go to various parking lots to check out the goods...meaning, very old cars. I knew I had to go 'very small' and actually wanted a MINI, but, at 6 foot 4 that was not a wise plan.

He, Rick the stoner, found me a good deal. It was a Volkswagen Beetle. Hmmm, a Beetle..they still make those? Well, it was orange too. I HATE ORANGE. Funny, those of us with NO MECHANICAL SKILLS focus on 'colour first'... but the price was in my 'dishwasher cheque range', so I bought it. Then, I went straight to a baby book for names. TRADITION: you have to name your first car. I called him, Adam. I picked that name because that's the name I wanted to be called at birth but obviously my parents didn't hear me.

So, Adam and I fell in love. I bought the polish, the little 'first aid kit for the car', the spare tire and the pine air freshener which is REALLY NOT MY THING. I know I should have bought the furry dice but I felt my car wasn't racy enough.

As our relationship blossomed and I was still dent free...I decided to drive down the California coast with my best friend (not Rick). He was Misha, a very disoriented boxer with tattoos and a pearl ear-ring. He was really dangerous looking. He was happy to join me with tents and a Coleman stove but said, "I'LL ONLY GO IF I'M DRIVING...YOU SUCK AT DRIVING!" I should have shown him my 98% test results..but, I wasn't prepared to lip off to a boxer. Also, a University room-mate said he had a prison record. He seemed nice!

So, off we went. I sang my heart out. He was not impressed but I had too. This was my first ROAD TRIP! The car barely fit our baggage as the hood is the trunk and the trunk is under the back seat. Who makes these cars?

Trouble hit when we were driving through the Redwood Forest. The hood , which I forgot to close properly, flew up and FLEW OFF! Yes, the entire hood ended up in the 4 foot fern forest and our clothing tumbled out on the highway for all to see. I laughed but the Boxer groaned and pumped his fist into an innocent tree. We had to use coat hangers to keep the hood on for the remainder of the trip. It worked! Adam was a trooper.

But, the whole 'battery under the back seat' was not such a good 'ideal' when making the Beetle. I was leaning down on the back seat to grab a flashlight and sparks flew. The springs had touched the positive to the negative and now , I was inhaling toxic fumes. I heard the Boxer using a lot of curse words but I was dizzy at the time. I coughed my way out of the car while Boxer Boy just slapped his dented forehead and yelled, WHAT NEXT?? Lucky for us we were near a public pool and the lifeguards came out with buckets of water to kill the beginning of a small backseat fire.

I was actually impressed that the damage was minimal. I just had to bend some springs and pull off melted goo. Then we bought a new battery and carried on! Bliss...I tell you ..ROAD TRIPS ARE THE EXPERIENCE THAT TURNS A BOY INTO A MAN!

When my orange Volkswagen finally died and mushrooms started to grow under my brakes, I had a pang of heartbreak. I had gone to Mexico three times in that Beetle. I had seen Disneyland, the Red Rock Canyon, Vegas, been down the Ventura Highway and only had 5 speeding tickets (3 of them were the Boxers). It was over. The car would become a crushed square of metal and I would move on to a Fiat, Datsun, Mazda, Toyota and Ford but, Adam would be my first love. I'm still not found of the colour orange and the BOXER became a University Professor...go figure!

Morphing into a Totem Pole

I always loved 'not being me'. Yes, that's why Halloween is the best of all times for this big kid. I can morph into anything I want and hide behind a mask while taking on the strangest of neighbors and their candy collection.

Picking out a Halloween costume was usually a project my mother and Granny took on. One costume, if we REALLY WANT TO CALL IT THAT, was a totem pole. What kid wants to go out on Halloween as a totem pole. I'm not even native. Well, I'm native to Vancouver but you know what I mean! So, my artistic Grandmother spent hours painting boxes with totem pictures: frogs, the great bear, the thunderbird, bits and pieces of human parts. I really didn't understand the GREAT NATIVE story but I knew I would not be able to walk in cardboard boxes let alone reach for candies or breath normally.

This Totem Pole costume did give me first prize 'twice' in the Sport's Day costume parade so, I give it up to Granny for my first 2 blue ribbons because I never saw another blue ribbon after that.

My mother had a different idea. She was sewing me a black poodle costume. NOTE TO ALL MOTHERS: "Little boys to not want to be fluffy black poodles WITH THEIR FRIENDS on Halloween night." That costume won me a red ribbon during the costume parade but I refused to wear on ANY Halloween night!

The next big challenge was mapping out the candy route. I had my best friend by my side each year. Note, the best friend was just a side-kick who I could change every Halloween and usually did. If I was out of best friends I just grabbed my sister to go with me. She was not good at trick or treating but I could work it for both of us.

Other Note: I do not do tricks when the neighbors put on those goofy smiles and say, "NO TRICK, NO CANDY!" When that flies out of their mouths I do an 'about face' and move on. I will not waste precious time pulling scarves out of my pocket or doing a lame coin trick. I was in it for the candy.

Speaking of the candy, we didn't have those lame plastic pumpkins kids use today (if they only knew how ROBBED they are today). We used huge white pillowcases. I would fill that baby up and rush home, hide my stash, grab a fresh pillowcase and hit a different neighborhood. It was an ART FORM!

My parents did the whole 'check the candy thing and NO APPLES because they may have razor blades in them'. I had no problem with the apple thing as it was a cop-out to toss a bruised apple into a kids pillowcase. DO PEOPLE THINK WE GOT ALL DRESSED UP FOR SOMETHING WE CAN GET OFF OUR KITCHEN TABLE ANY DAY OF THE WEEK..I think not!

My annual best friend and I would con our fathers into dropping us off in a new neighbourhood after our 'first early rounds' which start IMMEDIATELY AFTER DINNER. You can't hold back sugar-starved children. Dads are easier marks. It's their 'big' contribution to Halloween. That, and taking part in eating half our hard earned candies. Fathers had their own jobs and really didn't earn the candies but we felt obliged to let them eat most of our best stuff because THEY PUT A ROOF OVER OUR HEADS and they never LET US FORGET IT!

One time this lady invited my friend and I into her home for pie. I just wanted a Tootsie Roll and the door to close but, my FRIEND HAD TO ACCEPT THE OFFER. That was our last year together. Anyway, she had us in and actually SERVED UP FRESHLY BAKED APPLE PIE WITH ICE-CREAM!! I was mortified. I checked through the pie for a razor blade and reluctantly ate it but motioned to my friend to PICK UP THE PACE!! I was polite. It was hard to be polite when I had just missed about 15 houses because my friend made a bad decision on the MOST IMPORTANT NIGHT OF MY LIFE.

And remember all the pumpkin carving. Ugh..I hated carving pumpkins. I just didn't have that artistic zip like some kids. I wasn't big on toasted pumpkins seeds or pulling arm muscles trying to get that slimy crap out. The best part about pumpkins was smashing them when they finally started to rot. A week later there would be dead pumpkins parts all over the roads. I thought that was pretty cool!

I feel really bad for kids today. They have limited resources when it comes to Halloween. No more 'going off' on your own to scam the hood. No double outings with pillow cases. More social gatherings because all the neighbors are possibly pedophiles or gang members. Come home before dark..well, it's dark by 6:00 ...hello! And, the costumes. They're just awful. COSTUME IN A BAG. It's sad. No wonder kids just say 'forget it' and break down in tears.

I did the UNICEF thing a couple of times but , sadly, I was not an honest child and took the money for myself. I thought, 'look', if kids need the money that badly they should be out there collecting it themselves. My allowance was NOT UP TO PAR and this was one way to balance the books. I know, now, that it was wrong but at the time I really believed I was doing the right thing!

Now, I am on the other side of the door. I tell the little kids 'with their parents 3 inches away' how great their costumes are (and they really are not great) then I give them a candy bar that is NOW 1/4th THE SIZE OF THE ONES I GOT! Later, the older kids come. Some are teenagers. I open the door and say, "REALLY? YOU REALLY THINK I'M FALLING FOR THIS CRAP...MOVE ON!" It's a brave thing to do as teenagers are now gang members or they have weapons on them at all times.

I'm just really glad I was a kid back when you could leave your parents at home, walk miles away from your home, keep your candy stash in your room and stay out WAY PAST YOUR BED TIME! I still can't believe my family thought I could walk up stairs in a Totem Pole costume, seriously, what were they thinking? OH YEAH, I always dumped out my Smarties and separated the colours into piles. I thought it was a cool thing to do but now they would call that an OCD behaviour. Still, I think it's a cool thing to do and yes, I did eat the red ones last!

The Saint of Saving Animals

Having a huge passion for saving animals, I often make trips to the Animal Shelters around the city to spread my joy and spruce up a wayward creature's life. It's just who I am. Often I'll bring in old towels or sheets for the dogs or toilet rolls for the hamsters and mice. I'm just a giver by nature.

Yes, I have had a few 'moments' of regret and accidental bad behaviour but, it was all from the heart. No-one is a saint, although 'in the moment' I thought I was. The Saint of Saving Animals.

There is a big sign on a door that says 'NO ENTRY'. That's my cue to go in and raise the spirits of sleeping dogs and shaved cats. The shelter is rarely guarded by staff and I wanted to prove a point. ANYONE COULD GO INTO A RESTRICTED AREA AND CREATE A BIT OF CHAOS! For me, it was about proving a point. These animals had just had operations of the most personal nature and there was no-one there to hold them, to love them. I felt a surge of animal husbandry coming on. So, I saw this tiny little hamster curled up in a chewed mass of baby wipes. I put my hand into the cage (an aquarium fixed up as a mini-bachelor suite). It all happened like a bolt of lightening from the blue skies above. This little creature of God sunk his teeth into my finger. Pain bolted through me and my reflexes took over. It was like watching a mini-horror movie unfold. My hand came out of the aquarium, my mouth warped into a royal 'O' and the hamster was sent flying into the concrete wall. I actually saw the dwarf hamster hit the wall about 8 feet up and slide down to the cold cement floor. I had murdered the Chinese Dwarf Hamster. I had killed with kindness.

Any minute I would hear the Pet Police running down the hall to see me standing over the 3 ounce body. It was 'almost' the lowest moment of my life. Tears were welling up. It's strange what people do in crisis. Me, well, I cradled the little rodent in my hands and lay him back to rest in his white bed. I fluffed it up a bit and covered him, as if none of this had happened. I would live with the guilt. I would walk away knowing I had sent a tiny creature to it's early grave.

Then, like Baby Jesus had entered the building, the baby wipes vibrated. The small hamster was coming back to life. His head, likely throbbing, popped out from the bedding and his beady eyes sent shivers down my spine. He knew. He knew I was out of bounds. You just get this sixth sense that animals have it all going on upstairs and they KNOW WHAT DARKNESS YOU HAVE FORCED UPON THEM. Yup, that was a bad day! So, the next time I went in to a 'different shelter', I thought I'd get my special needs sister a kitten. Why not? We all need something to care for and to love. She had killed off most of her goldfish and many of her plants, so, I figured, 'cats are pretty independent. What could go wrong?.'

There were only two kittens to choose from. One was an orange male the other a beautiful multi-coloured female. They were siblings. How appropriate that I get a sib for a sib. So, I asked the man in charge if I could fill out a form to purchase the homeless feline. He gave me this eyeroll and said, "take a number!" Apparently six other people wanted this ONE KITTEN.

Okay, that's where my competitive spirit kicks in! I saw the people in the waiting room: one old lady, a young mother with a small child, a father with two teenagers, an older couple... and myself, a 'very ordinary man with little to offer'. It looked like the gig was up and I'd have to go elsewhere but, the keeper of lost animals made an announcement, "I WILL HAVE ALL OF YOU WRITE A 500 WORD ESSAY ON WHY YOU SHOULD GET THE KITTEN." He handed out pen and paper to all of us. He wasn't serious was he? AN ESSAY. I think I laughed out loud because the old woman gave me this , "YOU BETTER BUCKLE UP BOY BECAUSE I'M THE CAT LADY WHO ALWAYS GETS THE PRIZE." So, that was my cue to go to battle.

I simply told the truth. I am a teacher. I have an animal husbandry program at my school for wayward youth. I teach them about responsibility, sharing and humanity by raising 30 rabbits at our independent school. The kitten would be an extension of this RAISED AWARENESS for a young woman with special needs who, not unlike a blind man, needs his beloved pet to get him/her through the day. Yada Yada Yada...yours truly, Mr. Willy Walker.

I smiled at the old tart and gave the teenagers a frowny face as I handed in my piece of work to the Keeper of Pets. He stuffed a donut in his face and said he'd be back after he read them. We were all tense. This was a defining moment. I tried to play the role of the biggest loser, 'what's the pooooooooooint...look at all of you! Sweet children, seniors ...all vying for a little kitten.'

The Shelter Man who thought he was a grade five teacher, came back and revealed his smug answer. "Well, I've read these thoroughly and I have to say that I was very touched by one story." The old gal looked at all of us as if we were on a sinking ship and she had grabbed the brass ring. "Mr. Willy Walker, congratulations, your message to children and those with special needs carries great weight. I know this small kitten will be lucky to be in your care." HA, DING DING DING..we have a winner. The old lady whispered, "GOOD LUCK!" and suddenly she was moving faster than the able-bodied children. OUT THE DOOR IN SIXTY SECONDS.

So, the little kitten is now with my sister. The shelters still receive my attention and I continue to break the rules. But, it's all in the name of love! It's all about making the furry world a better place. And yes, I can sleep at night.

As Bob Barker has said on many occasions: REMEMBER TO GET YOUR PETS SPAYED AND NEUTERED...SEE YOU NEXT TIME!