ANGEL
ON MY SHOULDER
Here is the other half of my nickname--ANGEL. She was the most beautiful solid white Persian I'd ever seen. I remember Mom, Dad, both my brothers and I loading up in Dad's pickup truck with the camper shell on the back, and heading to north Alabama where Dad had located a breeder. This was to be my cat--mine, and mine alone--and I was filled with excitement during the 2-3 hour trip.
When we got there, it was just as I had expected--all of these wonderfully adorable little kittens, and I could have any one that I wanted. Well, if you've ever chosen a pet from among many, then you can understand the "connection". It's when one of the multitude actually seems to call out to you, and your eyes meet, and a bond is formed, and there is no need to look any further. That's how it was with Angel. She was mine from the moment our eyes and souls touched.
Soon after I had picked her out (I was around 14 then) my school had a pet show. Well, this was a much more rural town back then, so of course there were livestock, the requisite number of barking dogs, and a lot of noise and confusion going on around us. This led, of course, to one very frightened little kitten. I tried holding and soothing her, but of course a cat's natural instinct is to get to the highest possible location as fast as possible. It took some doing, but I finally convinced her that atop my head was NOT the ideal place, so she settled on my shoulder for the rest of the show.
She wasn't a show cat, wasn't especially intelligent (sometimes she acted like a ditsy blonde), but she was loveable, adventurous, entertaining--every quality a good pet should have. She shared my life for 13 years, and is probably the main reason I'm primarily a cat person.
The end of her life was extremely traumatic for me, though, but hopefully not for her. I'm not really sure how old is OLD for a cat, but she'd seemed to be getting just a little confused in her head, showing some incredibly stupid and abnormal behavior--one of which was running directly in front of every car that pulled into the driveway......
I'll never forget the next 15 minutes or so--the thump and bump as I ran over something as I pulled in hurriedly and unattentively one day. The flash of thoughts in my head--the hose left across the driveway--a child's toy from next door--or anything, ANYTHING besides what I knew it to be...running inside screaming for Mom to come help, help...we've gotta go to the vet--HURRY HURRY!!...hysterics overwhelming me. She had a few seizures, and slipped away from us before we had made a couple of blocks or so of the drive across town, so I try to console myself that she didn't suffer long.
I learned a valuable lesson that day, though. When you find a pet dead in the road, it hurts, but you can find solace in placing the blame or even hatred on some faceless stranger who has yanked a member of your family from you. Doing it yourself, though, is infinitely worse. Self-hatred consumes you from the inside--thoughts of "what if" consume every waking moment. To this day, I've never forgiven myself, and the pain of that loss burns in me hotter than that of any other pet. But to love is to risk, I've concluded, and the chance of pain in the future is worth the happiness such a relationship can bring. For over 13 years, I had a wonderful friend to carry me from childhood to adulthood, helping me through those traumatic times. Yes, indeed, well worth the risk.