By Saralee Perel
There was a slight movement between two pillows in the kitten cage at our local animal shelter. That's where I found Eddie. He was on his back trying to get some sleep "in this lousy joint" as I imagined an independent cat like him would say. He was a plain gray tabby, as common as a housefly.
"He's the one," I said to my husband Bob. Eddie swaggered to the food bowl, pushing four kittens out of the way.
"He's so ratty looking," Bob said, picking him up. "He only has one whisker." Eddie tenderly pressed his face against mine, then put his sharp baby teeth around my gold earring and yanked with the strength of a sumo wrestler.
That first night home, he was restless. I sang a raucous song from "Oliver" as a soft, slow ballad. "Food, glorious food, hot sausage and mustard." He closed his eyes and purred. From then on, that song always soothed him.
Eddie got up before we did. I knew that from the sound of breaking glass. We found him on the mantel where a glass plate used to be. The floor was covered with shards. He quickly put his paw behind a blue china vase and chucked that off the mantel, too. I felt bad. But that didn't last. Things are just things. Our pets are family.
When we'd watch TV in bed, he'd scratch us for attention. Eventually I learned that there are times when family is more important than TV. And when are those times? Always.
Eddie opened cabinets by putting his paws around the knobs and pulling. Vitamin bottles made great rattling noises on crash landings. First we tried child-proof magnets. Eddie simply tugged a little harder. Next: hook and eye locks. Eddie flipped the hooks open. Next: deadbolt locks. He slid the bolts to the side.The guy at the hardware store already had combination locks on the counter.
Every morning, we woke to blaring traffic reports. That's because Eddie turned on the clock radio. Yes, we tried moving the radio. He'd find it. Yes, we tried covering it with books. He'd just shove all the books off. We got rid of the clock radio. What else could we do with a cat like Eddie? (I heard that!)
Eddie saw obstacles as challenges. When barriers thwarted him, he never quit trying. "Can't" was not in his feline vocabulary.
For two years, Eddie has been sick. His medicine caused one side effect--as I gently rubbed his face, all of his whiskers came off in my hands, except for one.
He came into our lives with one whisker. And that is how he left. Three months ago, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I kissed his forehead and whispered, "I love you." He looked up at me. His face showed the love he was never successful at hiding.
As Bob softly sang, "Food, glorious food, hot sausage and mustard," Eddie took his last breath. While his body was still warm, I cradled him in my arms and rocked him. I held his head so he was nestled against my neck. "Eddie," I said, sobbing. "You will always be a part of me." I didn't want to let him go from my arms. But Bob, so lovingly and slowly, gently took him away.
And so, I honor the life and the lessons of my wonderful cat who, from the beginning, stood apart from all the others. My beautiful cat, my Eddie, just a plain gray tabby, as common as a housefly.
(For more of the Award-winning Author and Nationally Syndicated Columnist Saralee Perel go to http://www.saraleeperel.com)
