Character arc of a cat

SHERWOOD KIRALY

We went to Cape May in New Jersey, for a week surrounding Labor Day,

and when we came home there was a reunion with our animals -- a

boisterous one with Booker the spaniel and a dignified one with the

cats.

We have three Siamese, each a female, each named after a precious

or semi-precious stone, (Patti Jo is a jeweler), each with a dramatic

history. Topaz once disappeared for two weeks in another county. Ruby

once fell off the house.

And Pearl transformed herself.

Pearl was fairly amiable as a youngster, but then came motherhood,

and it soured her; they say it’s not for everyone. Ruby was part of

Pearl’s litter, and when she grew to twice Pearl’s size and could

beat up on her, Pearl began to brood.

She was overshadowed in the family’s cuteness hierarchy by Topaz,

who is beautiful, and Ruby, who is cross-eyed. Pearl never knew how

to inspire affection.

If you petted her she’d bite, and to keep you from walking away

she’d claw you.

Sometimes she’d snap altogether. Once she had a couple of teeth

pulled at the vet’s and came out of the anesthetic so enraged that

the hospital staff called for help. When Katie and I got there, she

was awake in her crate, making bizarre noises and flinging herself at

anyone who approached. There was a plastic leash handle protruding

from the grill door, and no one in the building had the nerve to try

and take it off her. Cat, crate and leash came home as a unit.

For years we assumed her disposition was set -- grim, with

psychotic episodes -- but then she gradually got sick. First she

hobbled a bit, then she got into her cat tree cave and stayed for

three days, unable to eat or walk. When I reached in to pet her, she

purred. She was suddenly friendly, now that she was dying.

At the animal hospital they found an infection running parallel to

her spine and drained it. She still couldn’t walk or eat. A fever

skyrocketed. Her condition was basically hopeless, and we brought her

home. She weighed about as much as the two of clubs.

She rested in her crate now, in the guest room. Patti Jo spoon-fed

her. Pearl didn’t really want food, having given up, but her

disposition was vastly improved. She always thanked us for visiting.

Nothing in her life became her like the leaving of it.

Except she didn’t leave. One day she walked two steps before

falling down. A few days later she made it across the room. Now, at

the animal hospital, she’s an acknowledged medical marvel. And a

changed woman.

These days she often sits on my lap while I’m at my desk. She was

the first of the cats to be kind to puppy Booker. And on our return

from Cape May she walked up, stiffly, to be petted. She did take a

little swipe at me when I stopped, so I’d know it was her.