Goodbye, Sybil the cat; hello, orangy blur

DAVID SILVA

The first of two parts.

My roommate’s cat, Sybil, was dying. She had suffered for years

from a mysterious, crippling cat affliction that attacked her thyroid

and joints, reducing her from a stately monster of a black cat to a

pitifully scrawny thing. During the day, she shuffled listlessly from

room to room. At night, she lay at the top of the stairs and writhed

and moaned.

It was a heartbreaking thing to see and hear. I asked Krystyna if

something, anything, could be done to help Sybil, but she shook her

head. The condition was terminal, she said sadly. It was a miracle

the cat had lasted as long as she had.

“Well, she seems like she’s suffering terribly,” I said as gently

as I could. “Have you thought about maybe having her put down?”

Krystyna looked at me as if I had suggested setting Sybil on fire.

“Just because you hate cats doesn’t make them disposable,” she

said fiercely. “Sybil’s got a lot of years left in her, and I intend

to make them as comfortable as possible.”

I looked over at Sybil, who had been trying to climb up the couch

to what had once been her favorite perch. After three feeble attempts

to lift herself up by her front claws, she collapsed to the floor in

a matted heap.

But it was clear there was no point trying to reason further with

Krystyna. My roommate had raised Sybil from kittenhood, and loved her

as if she had birthed her herself.

And so Sybil suffered, the mysterious affliction growing worse and

worse. One day, I walked into the living room to find her going

through convulsions. I sat next to her and stroked her fur, and after

awhile the tremors passed. “I know, sweetie,” I whispered as she

labored to catch her breath. “It hurts, I know.”

The next day, I decided to get Krystyna another cat. Perhaps the

company of a healthy, happy feline might open her eyes to just how

sick Sybil was, and help her to not fear being alone if she had Sybil

put down.

Of course, my roommate already had another cat, a massive and

ferociously dominant black beast named Gar whose reaction to Sybil’s

affliction so far had been to steal her food every chance he got. But

I knew that if Sybil died, Krystyna would start viewing Gar as a sad

widower, and that would make her even more depressed. No, what we

needed was a kitten -- some rambunctious bundle of energy that would

give Krystyna a reason to carry on.

I knew someone who worked with the local animal shelter, so I

called him and asked if he had any kittens available.

“We do, but I might have something else for you that could help us

both out,” he said. “My daughter brought a kitten home a few weeks

ago, and that hasn’t made my German shepherd happy at all. The

kitten’s managed to survive so far, but we need to get her out of

there before something terrible happens and my daughter’s traumatized

forever. Why don’t you come by tonight and see what you think? I’ll

tell my daughter you’re coming.”

So that afternoon after work, I drove over to my friend’s house

carrying a small cardboard box to bring the kitten home in case we

bonded. I knocked on the door, and a girl who looked to be about 15

opened it. She looked at me and the box under my arm, then burst into

tears.

“You’re here for my cat!” she wailed.

I nodded sympathetically, suddenly feeling like one of the

villains from “101 Dalmatians.”

“I’m sorry for crying,” the girl sniffed. “I know it’s for the

best. It’s just a matter of time before Dad’s stupid dog gets her.

I’m Lisa, come in. She’s over there.”

I stepped into the house and looked. “Where?”

Lisa looked around. “She was just there -- oh, there she is!”

I looked around and saw a tiny, orange-brown blur streak across

the room. A second later, an enormous German shepherd raced into the

room chasing the blur.

“BAR RAWR RAWR RAWR!” the dog bellowed.

It happened so fast that I blinked hard. Then the orangy blur

streaked across the room in the opposite direction, the ferocious dog

right on its heels. “BAR RAWR RAWR RAWR!”

“Holy cow,” I muttered.

“I know,” Lisa said. “That stupid dog’s been chasing her for so

long, her feet don’t even touch the ground anymore. Here, I’ll hold

Bruiser while you get her.”

Lisa grabbed the German shepherd by its collar, and instantly the

orangy blur stopped directly in front of me, transforming itself into

the most adorable tortoise-shell kitten I’d ever seen. The kitten

tilted her head and regarded me curiously.

“Aw, wook at the widdle kitten,” I smiled and reached for her.

“BAR RAWR RAWR RAWR!” Bruiser snarled.

Suddenly, the kitten disappeared in an orangy blur.

“There she is!” Lisa cried.

I turned and spotted the kitten perched on the mantle over the

fireplace. “I’ve got her,” I said.

“BAR RAWR RAWR!”

“Wait, where’d she ... ARGH!” I shrieked at the sudden stabbing

pain between my shoulder blades. The kitten had latched itself onto

my back. “AH! Get it off me! Get it off me!” I screamed, whirling

around like a top.

“BAR RAWR RAWR!” Suddenly, the pain was gone as the kitten

streaked out of the room.

“There she goes! Get her!” Lisa shouted.

This went on for almost 30 minutes. Every time I almost had her in

my grasp, Bruiser would bellow and she’d disappear. Finally, sweaty

and exhausted, I decided to give up. “Look, kid, I don’t think this

is going to work...”

“BAR RAWR RAWR!”

“ARGH!”

I looked down and saw that the kitten had fastened itself to my

chest like Velcro. I quickly grabbed her by the scruff of her neck

and ripped her off me. The kitten instantly went limp and eyed me

nervously as I held her away from my body.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

Lisa sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Emerald Forest,” she said.

Ugh. Not for long, I thought to myself as I examined the animal. I

carried her over to the box and put her inside, folding the flaps

shut.

“Goodbye, Emerald Forest,” Lisa whispered.

“It’s OK, kid,” I told her as gently as possible. “She’s going to

a good home with two other nice cats. She’ll be really happy, I

promise.”

I thought it best not to mention that the whole reason I was

bringing Emerald Forest home was so my roommate would have one of

those two nice cats put down. Instead, I said: “I’ll let your dad

know how Emerald Forest is doing, OK? And you can come visit her any

time.”

“OK,” she said, then burst into tears again.

I walked out to the car with the boxed kitten in my arms, feeling

rather smug. Yes, I was breaking a young girl’s heart, but I was also

about to bring a lot of love into my roommate’s life. Best of all, I

was saving a poor kitten from the jaws of a vicious, kitten-eating

canine.

Not bad for a day’s work, I thought to myself as I set the box on

the back seat of my car. Now all I had to do was get the animal home.

Next week: Why freeways and wild kitties don’t mix.

* DAVID SILVA is a Times Community News editor. Reach him at (909)

484-7019, or by e-mail at david.silva@latimes.com.