If you don’t own a pet this will make no sense to you. If your life has ever been touched by one of God’s beautiful four-pawed creations than you will shed a tear with me for “Cleo”.

Who knows what kind of cat she was. Tall, lanky, cheetah-like, with the highest and sweetest little voice; always chattering at me with her antenna-like tall vibrating in the air as she rubbed against your leg. She was a bit wild and playful and danced and rolled on the grass and batted at butterflies while hanging almost upside down from the tree branches. She tiptoed along the edge of the roof and teased me to reach up and try to pet her.

She came into our life on a cold November morning. I was taking out the trash when I heard this whimper noise coming from under the bushes. Looking more like a mud-covered rat than a kitten I thought she was dying. We have two other cats and a dog and I was afraid she might have cat leukemia or aids so I was hesitant to take her inside. So I put out a bowl of food and found an old whicker cat basket up in the attic. My son’s old heating rock for his gecko was lying on the floor so I wrapped it in a blanket, plugged it in and shoved it inside the basket. God would have to keep this most comely feline alive. It was out of my hands. I gently picked her up and held her on her back to make sure she wasn’t bleeding or injured. Then she did something that created the strongest bond I’ve ever had with an animal. She nuzzled up to my chin and rubbed her nose back and forth and started purring and wheezing at the same time. It was as if she was thanking me for just a few moments of love and affection, as if she had never been loved or held before in her short life. She stretched back and fell asleep. And there I sat, freezing on the front porch swing, with this scrawny kitten soaking up as much energy and heat from my body as she could. It was enough for me to know she had been cherished, as if the most important animal in the universe, at least for this one night.

You know she didn’t die. In fact, each day she grew stronger and stronger. She would wander a bit during the day but end up each night back in the basket chattering and purring so loud you could practically hear her inside the house. We named her Miss Cleo. And, as all pet owners know, we added some affection to that name and ended up caller her Cleo-dee. Everyone in our neighborhood loved her. Besides the food bowls we provided she dined at her leisure at several other homes. She followed folks around the neighborhood on their nightly walks, and always, always chattering away in that high unforgettable voice.

As she grew older she became more and more beautiful. She was shorthaired and, with her stripping and small head and constant stretching and posing, she looked more and more like those cats you saw in the encyclopedias from Egypt. She would come in and sleep in the house at nights and wrestle with our other cats. She wasn’t much of a lap cat but always enjoyed being picked up, turned over on her back and scratched under the chin. She never grew tired of rubbing her nose on my chin. But after just a few minutes it was back to the floor. When she wanted out she would head to the door and ring this little Christmas bell we had hanging there. It was all her own idea. She was a cat who owned us and loved entertaining us with her antics. And yes, she was mine.

Outside she was the queen of the universe. In the morning sun, she would come flying across our backyard, run up a 20-foot tree in three seconds, and fling herself at a bird or squirrel or butterfly. Then it was back down again, roll in the grass like it was fresh clover, look for our dog Sheila to harass, and up to the lawn chair, peering around just to make sure you were watching her all the time. She was strong, sleek, healthy, funny, with more personality than I had seen in a hundred other cats in my life. Cleo was a delight; in love with life as much as any animal I have ever known.

Last night, during one of those neighborhood walks, Cleo was playing with a new stray cat in the neighborhood. She was just 10 yards away from our driveway as my wife and son were cleaning out our van. Cleo was bouncing around like “Tigger” when, for some unknown reason, she bolted out into the street full blast into a passing car. She hit her head so hard on the wheel she died instantly. The driver didn’t even see her coming; a strange twist for a cat that was around cars for most of her life and never had a brush with danger. My wife and son and neighborhood nurse held her and tried to revive her. She was gone.

We all cried and cried. I could hardly make the drive home from work. When I pulled into the driveway there was no vibrating tail or chattering to greet me. My wife had wrapped Cleo-dee in a towel and placed her on the back porch in her favorite chair, sleeping! I imagined Cleo was waiting for me to turn her over and scratch her and let her nuzzle against my chin. What a beautiful, sweet animal!

The next morning I opened the back screen door just like any other day. I carried Cleo-dee out to the backyard where she used to run and frolic with Sheila, our dog, and Sam Wise Gangees, our little kitten following close behind. I carefully dug a hole in the ground and placed our friend in her final resting place, only yards away from our two other cats that graced the Ruechel household. I thanked God for the two short years of joy Cleo had brought into our lives. She was as unique as each evening’s sunset, and as surprising as an afternoon Florida rain shower.

My oldest daughter called me on the phone to thank me for being a Dad who loved every creature that our children brought into our lives over the past 20 years without question. And, took the risk of loving these beings knowing the hurt that would follow when they all would eventually die.

There is virtue and healing and spiritual growth that comes from getting very close to creatures that crave and live for the company and the pleasure of human beings. And there is something beyond words that happens when we are privileged to return them to the earth, from wench God brought forth their life, with a thankful and full heart. Farewell my sweet little Cleo, farewell!

Al Ruechel, Copyright 2003, All Rights Reserved

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