The Man Behind the Cats
A Tribute to my Valentine
When we were about 18 and dating, Asa and I were driving along a country road one night just outside of Vallejo, California. Suddenly we swerved to the side of the road and stopped abruptly. Asa jumped out of the car and I ran after him, to discover six tiny newborn kittens huddled together in the weeds and dirt just off the roadside. Asa took off his sweater, folded it into a sort of a nest, and carefully picked up each tiny creature, tenderly brushing the dirt off, and gently placed it into the folds of the sweater. We drove to the closest phone booth and made several phone calls, finally locating a veterinarian who operated out of his home, and was willing to see the kittens at this late hour. He examined the tiny foundlings and sadly told us that they were too weak from exposure and malnutrition to save, and the kindest thing he could do was to put them down. I was crying when we left the small clinic, and couldn't help but notice Asa wiping away at his own eyes. I knew then, without a doubt, that this boy was the person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. Any man who could be so kind and caring about helpless small creatures had to be an exceptional person. Fifty years later, I'm living with the proof of my assumption, and loving every minute of it. Soon after moving to our own home, we "inherited" the two cats Asa had grown up with, Spunky and Buffer. Within a year, both were gone, and the day Asa had to euthanize Buffer because of an inoperable tumor, was one of the hardest days of our lives together. Asa was inconsolable; he had lost an old and dear friend, and there was nothing I could do to make it better. Eighteen years later, the same task fell to me when Tinker developed cancer, and I knew Asa would not be up to it. Tinker was our baby; we had him from the day he was born until he was over seventeen, and he reigned as king of the household. Over the years, Asa has been my mainstay when our cats are sick. It is poetry watching him gently examine and clean wounds, administer pills, eye drops or ear drops, while all the time talking softly and soothingly to the patient. He missed his calling in not becoming a veterinarian, but I am so grateful to have him around when our cats are sick or injured.
I can only hope my readers are all as lucky as I in their choice of mates.
Our first cat was Puff, a beautiful little long-haired white cat. We took her everywhere with us in our '57 Corvette, and her favorite place was Foster Freeze, where Asa always bought her her own small vanilla Frosty, which she gobbled with relish. Asa stayed home from work the day she died. No one else could understand it. "It was only a cat."
A very pregnant Franny with Puff
Buffer and Spunky, zonked out
In all honesty, I'm grateful to have him around always, this partner, life mate, cat-loving man of mine. Life with Asa has been exciting, rewarding, romantic, fun, frustrating at times; all those things you would expect over the course of a 48-year relationship, but never, NEVER boring. To be able to share our love of cats on a daily basis is the icing on the cake.
Next page>
More Photos of My Valentine & Our Kitties > Page 1, 2
