We recently gave a home to a beautiful, pure white Persian cat, who has the unfortunate name of Nelson. The previous owner, an Englishman, posted on the internet that, essentially, he had to have a new home by a certain time, or he would be set loose in the fields. I waited and waited and nobody came forward, so some six hours before the deadline I offered Nelson a home.
When he arrived, he was in a very sorry state. Badly matted fur, coated in his own excreta and with some bad sores and a three by one inch abscess on his lower chest. We have cut away the mats, washed and combed his fur and treated his sores and abscess, he is now, I firmly believe, the most beautiful cat alive, both to see and in temperament. When I am home, he follows me like a dog and Meows most pitifully if he thinks I am not paying him enough attention.
The point of this story? For the first month or so after Nelson came to live with us, he was desperately timid. He used to hide from everybody and never appeared if anybody was around. Everything changed quite out of the blue one morning. I woke up to hear a constant series, of plaintive Meowing from outside the bedroom door. I opened it and Nelson came in, doing his cat impression and trying to trip me up on the way to the bathroom. He hasn’t looked back since!
That evening I checked in on the internet to find that Nelson’s previous owner had died that morning from a heart attach. He was only 43 years old.
Funny innit.....
This put me in mind of Robin Williams’ Patch Adams and his discussion about death in that film. (If you have never seen the film, you should do so. Go out and purchase a DVD today. You can send it to me when you have finished with it!)
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