Did I ever tell you about a cat of mine that hit the jackpot?
Well, it wasn’t really my cat. I had taken it from a friend’s litter who seemed desperate to place the kittens into a nurturing home. I figured she would be a terrific companion for my children.
But as such matters go, the person you would least suspect wound up gravitating more to the pet. Yours truly. Yes, wherever I went, Pebbles was sure to follow.
It was their cat but I wound up changing the litter box, feeding the feline, taking her to the vet whenever she came through the door mauled by the street urchins, and cared for it like one of my own.
As for the children, my youngest was especially attached to her and wouldn’t go to bed at night if Pebbles wasn’t by his bedside.
One day, my church sponsored a raffle and the top prize was an Oriental rug. I purchased some tickets, filled out names of each family member, and had two left over. Who to pick?
“Why not Pebbles? She’s a member of our family,” volunteered Raffi, our youngest.
Done deal. Pebbles Vartabedian got the nod. By now, she was well on in years. Arthritis had set in and she was lethargic. Still loved the outdoors, though, and remained a glutton for punishment from the neighborhood vagrants.
On the day of the drawing, people stood with their tickets in hand, hearts souring with great expectation. I didn’t know what the value of that oriental was, but let’s say it was a pretty Persian worth plenty. Fat chance that would wind up in my home, based upon previous raffle success.
All I ever got filling out those stubs was an exercise in futility.
One by one, the tickets were drawn. Third prize went to an elderly woman. She won a membership to a health spa. Second prize was a young man. His prize was a gift certificate to a beauty salon. All set for the bonanza. Drum roll, please.
“And the winner of this handsome Oriental rug is, err, Pebbles Vartabedian? Is there a Pebbles Vartabedian in the audience?” the announcer asked, doing a double take on the ticket.
Well, wouldn’t you know, top prize went to our cat. In the days and weeks that followed prior to her demise, she lived like Puss in Boots, lying clumsily on her domain with a cup of Fancy Feast tuna in a goblet by her side.
She stayed with us for 13 years and memories of her on that royal carpet was the best treatment any pet could enjoy.
I bring this subject up today because of a story I read last week about hospice care for frail felines. Title of the front page article was, “One Last Hope,” and it told of unwanted cats being housed by the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (MSPCA).
Seems there are a lot of sick and elderly cats looking for a lasting—or last—home so they can depart with dignity. We wouldn’t wish anything less for a human, why an animal? These are unwanted cats facing euthanasia unless taken.
I cannot commend enough the work done by this shelter in putting animals up for adoption, let alone the Merrimack River Feline Rescue Society and other such organizations.
Some of my best stories told of humanitarians feeding strays. I recall one in particular of an 80-year-old woman who opened her home to strays and cared for the lot. It got to the point where her apartment got out of control and authorities intervened.
But that didn’t take away from the compassion this woman exercised or the care she brought these animals. It was unfortunate there was such a brood, not the breed. What the cat officers didn’t know was how the woman reached out to neighbors for assistance and got the supermarket to donate cans of food. It turned into a community service.
I don’t know how many of you out there have a pet but I’m willing to bet it’s probably a majority, whether a goldfish, parakeet, gerbil, or a Rottweiler. Over the years, we’ve housed chickens, turtles, and rabbits, but never a canine, much as I like dogs.
It kills me to see a carcass of any animal on the road or to read stories of inhumane behavior. There are people out there getting away with murder.
One solution, I suppose, would be to hop aboard the MSPCA animal train and take a ride toward eternal gratitude.
As for Pebbles, he must be somewhere in Animal Heaven. His rug has been laid to rest in our living room. A coffee table sits upon it now.
Tom Vartabedian
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Thank you for your humor in dealing with a serious subject. I loved reading this article; it brought to mind the regal demeanor of our own cat of 12 years who had a houseful of oriental rugs to call her own, though she never did win one at a raffle!