The formerly-feral Grendel has--in her dotage--become both deaf and blind. Since that time, she has put aside her fear of us and become a demanding presence. Many time during the day and night, her echoing calls will summon us to find her and lavish attention on her. She goes as far to seek out our bedside and rub her face against our hands or feet.
Apparently we are much easier to love when one can no longer see or hear us.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
I met her back in April. She was a frightened newcomer at the Homer Animal Shelter, given up when her elderly owner became ill. She huddled in the back of the isolation area with a worried look on her face. I spent a half-hour cutting a mass of matted fur from her back, holding her on my lap and speaking softly to her fear.
That little face of hers put me in mind of another who came into my life decades ago--abandoned and frightened.
I kept my eye on her throughout the summer. Adoptions were slow. She sat in the big cat room, watching the season pass outside the windows. She was a nice cat but the shelter was full of nice cats.
After BeBe died, I kept thinking of her and wondering if we might have room for another cat. The house is crowded, but some cats required very little. For the sake of my dear Kisa, I couldn't let this one languish without a home any longer.
I brought her home a couple weeks ago and she has fit in well.
Her name was "Khia" and she is almost eight years old.
Yes, "Khia"--that was the name she had been given in her former home. It is a strange echo of another name--one forever written in my heart.