Memories of Whiskers the Cat
by Pat Gordon
Memories of Whiskers the Cat

My beautiful black and white cat has disappeared. I am so sad and miss him so much. Not knowing what happened to him is the worst. Is his body lying still along the road out of site or in the deep forest? Has some winged predator swooped down from a high perch and taken him away? I will never know. Whiskers was found several days later where he had been hiding under the house, frightened by another of my more aggressive cats.

Since he was born a feral he never quite trusted anyone except when they had some food in their hands. At other times he would run away and hide when anyone was near. He always stayed in the back yard and never roamed. The only time anyone else touched him was when he was a kitten and I took him to be neutered.

I named him whiskers because his whiskers were white against a mostly black face. He was a kitten when I first saw him and his sister. They would hide in the abandoned property next to my yard, which is overgrown with trees and brush. Gradually they began to stay out of hiding more and trust those that left meals out for them to find. Sister was black and white also and at first it was hard to know which was which, but the patterns of their spots were different. As time went by the two grew independent of each other and went their separate ways. Sister preferred another neighbor’s generosity and Whiskers became a regular on my porch.

He was always polite and grateful for his meals, and would properly thank me before eating. He would take his time and rub his body over the porch objects and then approach me slowly to let me stroke his soft smooth fur and scratch his head before eating. His fur was long and soft and it never shed its hairs like the other cats did. He was quiet and shy and never aggressive toward the other cats. But he would stand his ground when he matured.

Now seventeen years since this little kitten stole my heart, he is gone to his final resting place. Many times I have thought that he wouldn't last much longer and tried to prepare myself for the inevitable. Just a month ago I was bragging how he has survived and was still going strong. When he stopped coming on the porch at night for his treat I suspected it wouldn't be long. Then he stopped eating altogether even though I brought his food to him and added canned tuna his favorite.

Many homeless felines have come and gone over the years, each special in their own way. His little soul will be held in my heart until we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge.

July 2, 2017

Comments would be appreciated by the author, Pat Gordon
 
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