a cat named Precious

One of the things I've been doing this summer is perusing my pre-digital photos and reminiscing. I thought I would share a few of those stories with you in the coming days. This one was inspired by my friend Debi.

Once I had a cat named Precious. He came to us in his old age. He'd been a tom all his life; lived free and hunted hard. By the time he joined our family he was losing his teeth and his ability to hunt. We invited him to spend his old age cozy in our little one room home. He would give a single mew at the door to let us know when he wanted in or out.
And so we all lived happily together for many months.

None of that seems very remarkable, but you didn't know Precious. If angels ever come to Earth as animals, he was just such a being. He had a gentler more loving spirit than most people I've known. Precious charmed even our territorial, solitary indoor cat. I still love to picture him in a bit of sunshine curled around Raphie; the two intertwined. He was solid black and she pure white. Both had brilliant green eyes.
And so we all lived happily together for many months.

Precious spent part of his life with us in the outdoors that has always been his home. Raphie waited patiently inside. When she had waited long enough, she would hop up into the window and give a long mew to call him home. Precious came. Right away. Like an old married couple, the wife calling her husband in from the fields to supper.
And so we all lived happily together for many months.

As often happens, a sad morning came. Precious was old. No longer quick enough to hunt. Or quick enough to cross the dirt road we lived on. A careless car hit him. The hurrying driver left him in the middle of the road for me to find.
To this day, I have never cried as hard as I did just then.




My father-in-law does not love cats. Not one bit.
But he does love me.

Papa tenderly carried my Precious home as I sobbed inconsolably. Much later, when I was quieter, he took my hand and led me outside. There was a fresh mound of dirt under the rose bushes. They were pink roses, I remember.

My father-in-law said to me, "I thought you might like to think of him here; sleeping under the roses."



I did.

I still do.


Isn't it amazing what love can do?

The cat in the picture above is not Precious. I've spent an hour sorting through old pictures, and I can't find a single picture of Precious. I can still see him, though. Perfectly.