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| Love Lessons From A Cat by Ruth Averna I used to say my cat, Hadassah, (Dassie for short) and I were mutually trained. We worked out a system for bedtime. When I snapped my fingers, it was time to go to the bedroom. She made it a contest. If she got there first, she waited impatiently for me to get there. If I got there first, she sauntered down the hall, letting me know she was in no hurry. That was her training. My training took place about 4:00 every morning. When she was ready to get out of the room, she started knocking things off my dresser until I let her out. Do you know how annoying a bouncy ball is at 4:00 a.m.? Looking back now, I see this was the least of my training. She taught me so much more. My dad gave Hadassah to me when I was seven. I loved her from the first moment I saw her. She was beautiful! She had the calico coloring of black, tan, and yellow with tortoiseshell pattern. Her white underbelly, the socks on her paws and her black right front leg were the only places a solitary color. She had a short, sleek coat that was always glossy. Her light green eyes always shone with mischief, especially when she called birds to the back door with her very convincing mimic of their chirping. I missed her greatly when I was staying at my mom’s in Grand Junction. I tormented her. The most lasting torment took place not long after I got her. It wasn’t malicious, I just wanted to teach Dassie how to swim. So I put her in the toilet…and flushed. From then on, Dassie refused to be held in the bathroom and fled at the sound of a flushing toilet, yet she always came in to curl around our ankles. Through all that I did to her as a child, she still loved me. Through this, Dassie taught me that love is forgiving. I wasn’t the only one to torment Dassie. When my niece, Juliana, was just learning to crawl, her favorite past time was to follow and attack Dassie. Dassie sauntered across the living room with Juliana right on her tail, literally. When Juliana got a hold of it, Dassie just sat patiently, waiting for Juliana to lose interest. Then she walked off. She never hissed, scratched, or bit, just waited patiently for a chance to continue on her way. This showed me how patient love should be. Dassie wasn’t a lap cat. She didn’t like to be held and only wanted to be petted on her terms. She sometimes curled up at the foot of my bed, but as soon as I noticed, she was off. This made her shows of attention even more special. But she always knew how I felt and how to cheer me up. If I was sad, she sat by me and allowed me to pet her as she listened to my woes. And I know she was listening, she always gave my hand a sympathetic lick in just the right places. When I was happy, she purred for me because she knew I couldn’t. If I was depressed, she became playful, forcing me to smile. I learned from her compassion was another important part of love. The greatest lesson she had for me was the hardest one I have ever had to learn. Through her death, Dassie taught me that love knows no boundary. Dassie loved to sit amongst the flowers in the little patio garden outside the back door. Three days before my 16th birthday, Dassie decided to venture outside this fenced in area. On her illicit wandering, she was attacked by two large dogs. Her declawed front paws were a poor defense against animals four times her size. When my father called to tell me of the attack, I just cried. And prayed. The next day my dad called in a progress report: “Dassie is in stable condition. The Vet says the medication he has her on will keep her from feeling any pain.” I began to feel that my prayers were being answered. The day after that was a Wednesday, the night my youth group met. Before I left for church, my dad called with good news, “The vet says that Dassie is through the worst. She’s going to make it!” I went to youth group with a happy heart. Youth group started at 7:00 and ended at around 8:00. That is when Dassie taught me her last lesson. She was in Denver, I was in Grand Junction, yet immediately after youth group she told me good-bye. I heard a Voice whisper, “I’m taking her Home now.” This was followed by a very meowish “Good-bye”. I started sobbing. My dearest friend was gone. That night, around 9:00, my Dad called. I was not surprised by his news, “Ruth, Dassie passed away tonight.” “I know Dad.” “You know?” “Yes, she told me good-bye. Do you know what time she died?” “No, I didn’t ask.” “Would you find out if it was around 8:00?” The next day, my dad called back: “The vet said he was with her when she died. He checked the clock right after, at 8:05. How did you know?” “I told you dad, she said Good-bye.” |