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Harry
I was always allergic to cats
and frankly, I was a dog person. Dogs wagged their tails
with glee, they walked in the woods with you and on occasion
helped you find your way home. And mostly, they were great
protectors.
My sister loved cats and Harry,
a.k.a fatty boy, was hers. He was 20 lbs. at his peak. I
knew him for years and we were always cordial to one
another, but I never really got too close to him because of
my allergy, and I just didn’t get cats. After my yellow lab
died at age 17, I was recruited to cat sit for Harry for a
month, while my sister and brother-in-law relocated during a
renovation. I gladly agreed because my dog and I were always
welcome at their home in the country. Harry tolerated Emma
and Emma tolerated Harry; somehow they both knew that the
country house was a good thing
When Harry arrived, I took
allergy pills. Of course, he slept on my bed nestled in my
neck and I felt suffocated for the alleged month he
was to stay with me. Well, the renovation took longer than
expected; my allergy disappeared as the first month neared,
and the rest was history. Harry returned to live with them
briefly, but he liked my pad better and let them know by
marking their lovely new stenciled floor. He instantly
became mine.
It was like learning a new
language. When he heard a sound and perked his head up, I
would scream “Bark”. When I walked past him in the kitchen
and he felt deserving of some cold cuts, he would smack my
leg. I thought it was my imagination until it became a
regular occurrence.
I quickly fell in love. He was
mellow and unlike my dog, he loved to travel. Harry would
sleep in the passenger’s seat on a pillow with one paw on me
and look out the window whenever we hit a traffic light. He
would hang by the pool in upstate NY, take morning walks on
the dewy grass by my side and eat whatever we barbecued for
dinner. He would sit on my lap with his paws wrapped around
my neck and rub his head in my face for an endless amount of
time. And he begged at the dining table; embarrassingly so.
He would invariable put his paw on a guest’s arm as they
were about to bite into a piece of salmon or chicken.
We had a ritual of walking our
company to the elevator when they left, and whenever we came
back from a trip, he would struggle to get out of the bag
waiting for the elevator door to open and then walk to the
apartment himself.
He slept with his head on my
pillow every night, purred non-stop and never flinched when
I give him a shot for his diabetes. What I didn’t know about
cats, I quickly learned from Harry and I am converted. For
eight years, he lived with me and loved with me until
December 30, 2006, at which time I put him to rest after a
struggle with bladder cancer. He was 20 years old.
And like my dog, Harry walked
in the woods with me, wagged his tail with less glee and
protected me from myself. He was rewarded for that with
hundreds of kisses daily.
Dr. Plotnick and his amazing staff helped to maintain a high
quality of life for Harry until the very end and as
difficult as that process was, it was somehow beautiful and
dignified. I will be forever grateful to them…and missing
Harry goes without saying.
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