HAPPY ENDINGS - RESCUE STORIES
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In June of 1991, I lost my beloved ten-year-old black Angora, Peanut, to cancer. About one week later, I decided to call the animal pound to see if they had any cats for adoption. Our pound does not keep cats. They are destroyed as soon as possible. My goal was to save the life of a cat in Peanut’s name, as a tribute to my love, so I could feel better. The man I talked with said that the pound had a cat and a kitten. He told me the cat was very injured and the kitten would never be social, since she was feral. She had been discovered living with the guinea pigs in the Thompson Zoo. He said it took two weeks and five men to trap her. She evaded every attempt to capture her; including biting one man through his heavy leather glove. The man informed me that the vet was due within the next two hours to put them to sleep. I begged him to wait the thirty-five minutes it would take me to get there and see the kitten. He said he would do his best. I hurried to the pound, my heart pounding with worry that the vet might get there early.

As I entered the pound, my heart fell to the floor as all the puppies and dogs cried and barked, looking at me with hope in their eyes. The man directed me to the back where it was dark and cold. I approached a cage and almost became sick. A young cat was in it, who was bleeding and dragging its leg. I asked why the kitten was not getting medical attention. He said they took her in because a dog attacked her, but the vet only came once a week. I told him that I couldn’t believe he would let a kitten suffer instead of taking her to see a vet out of compassion.

At that moment, the vet came in and I hurried to see the kitten. There she sat in the back of a dirty, dark cage; a huddled little mass, scared and wide-eyed. The man advised me to forget about the kitten and let the vet do his job. I said, "No," because I was determined to help this little girl. She was a domestic short-haired tortie, who looked to be about 12 weeks old. He said, "OK. You have one try, but it took five men to get her, so I doubt you will be able to touch her. I opened my cat carrier, and he told me that I would need the large gloves he tried to hand me. I knew that the dreaded gloves that caught her would now just scare her. At that moment, she looked up at me and her eyes said, "Help me, please." I spoke softly to her, cooing and whispering, "Little one, you must let me pick you up. It’s your last chance." I opened the door to her cage slowly; and carefully reached for her, as I kept telling her it was her only chance and to let me hold her. She looked in my eyes again, as I gently picked her up and cuddled her to me. She sighed a big sigh and relaxed in my arms. No one could believe it.

I knew we had a long road ahead. I had to keep her in my bathroom the first two weeks. My apartment was small, but it made her feel safe to be in an even smaller area. She did not like my ex-husband, either. She sensed that he was not a nice person. Every time I went in the bathroom, I would hold her and hug her and love her. She started to eat and relax. I named her Bear because she was found at the zoo. Eventually, I told Bear that it was time for her to socialize with the family. The family was made up of Zelda, my daughter's cat, and Cricket, my Shih Tzu. Bear promptly made her home under my bed for the next two months.

Finally, one day I found her out with Cricket and they became best buddies. Bear never became a truly social cat when it came to other people, but she was never mean or destructive. The vets were amazed at what a wonderful and beautiful cat she became.

I call Bear "my guardian angel" because one night, when my ex-husband was being very abusive to me, Bear saved my life. I was becoming afraid that I would never survive the attack, when suddenly Bear appeared. I noticed her jump to the top of the cupboard and then, in an instant, jump down on my ex's shoulder and bite him in the neck as hard as she could; then she jumped and ran and hid. My ex let go of me and tended to himself. I locked myself in a room with Bear so I could protect her. When he left that morning, I got the courage to file a court order against him, which led to a divorce. It is sad to say, but most of us who love animals also love people just as much. We think we can fix them and make them better. I have the inner and outer scars to show that sometimes it's not a possibility.

Bear and I made it on our own. This little cat showed me the strength I needed to go on. She saved my life in more ways then one.

Years later, I met John, the love of my life...and Bear's. She liked him immediately and that was good enough for me. We married him and he made her life and mine wonderful. When Bear became sick in the end, John built her a ramp so she could go down to the cellar and our den more easily. He made sure that she had the best medical treatment available. Bear was and is my Guardian Angel. She passed away last December and I know she is still with me every day. In fact, she chose my Blue for me.

My Blue Persian, Azurine Ambrosia Hodge, is seven months old. I was devastated after Bear passed. My husband knew I had always wanted a Persian, so he picked up the newspaper and responded to an ad for four Persian kittens, one all blue. I didn't want to betray Bear, so I laid the paper down and walked away, feeling sad and lonely. When I came back, a picture of Bear that was laying out had blown right on top of the ad. I took the "coincidence" to be a sign from Bear that it was all right to love another kitten.

Thank you, Bear!