Lucky

Once a wandering whisper of fur, an emaciated orange and white striped cat with gold-orange eyes appeared in my mother’s Ohoopee yard on a sunny afternoon about a month ago.

“He just came running out of nowhere, with no fear whatsoever of Cali,” my husband told Mom and me, referring to the little cat’s bravery around our golden retriever, who fell instantly in love with the feline. “I went into the kitchen and found a little snack for him. He was starving and ate every bite. He’s been out there all day.”

With hopeful eyes, the thin little cat had made a silent plea for sanctuary as he made fast friends with my husband, dog, and me — purring softly and rubbing all over our legs and feet, then occasionally looking up at us with his marble-like eyes and meowing. We are big animal lovers, but we don’t live in the house in Ohoopee. The thin orange tomcat had to cast his magic spell upon my mother and convince her to let him stay in her fenced yard with the beautiful formosa and George Tabor azaleas.

I bought a giant bag of Meow Mix from the Dollar General Market and plopped it on the floor of the laundry room — my contribution to the campaign to convince my mom to keep the cat, who another member of our family soon christened “Lucky,” a name that carried with it the promise of a newfound fate. When we left Mom’s house that week, my husband and I weren’t sure that she’d keep him. We didn’t know if we’d ever see Lucky again.

In record time, Lucky weaved his way into the tapestry of Mom’s daily life, his presence an unexpected gift she hadn’t realized she wanted, or needed.

“Guess who followed me around the yard today as I pulled weeds?” she asked me two weeks ago. “Lucky and I worked out there for three hours, and then I let him in the house for a little while.”

My heart turned a cartwheel, hearing how Mom and the cat were bonding. Lucky had indeed found a home.

She bought him a little cat bed and placed it in her sunroom on a sofa.

“He likes it,” she told me. “And you know what else he likes? Spare ribs!”

She even cut the meat from the bone for him. When I visited last week, I noticed that he has put on some weight and is looking healthier. I also observed that Lucky does typical cat things — he pounces on shadows, turns over on his back so we’ll scratch his belly, and races from one end of the house to the other, for no apparent reason, which makes us giggle.

I started laughing last night, and Mom looked at me and said, “What’s he doing now?” I pointed to her Roomba robot vacuum cleaner. Lucky patted it with his paw as he went by, which made the vacuum leave its docking station, which caused Lucky’s eyes to widen. As the vacuum hummed and navigated the living room floor, Lucky’s hunter’s instinct kicked in, and he became a focused predator. He stalked the mechanical intruder with the precision of a spotted leopard, his eyes unblinking, body coiled tight, ready to pounce. We watched from our recliners as this domesticated wildcat interacted with modern technology.

Lucky had come to us with ribs that could be counted beneath his thin coat. The full bowl of kibble and the occasional treat quickly became part of the cat’s daily routine, food no longer a scarce resource but a daily assurance at my mom’s house, along with kind words and some friendly petting here and there. And as a continued from page

thank you, the cat rewards us all with his presence.

Lucky’s story of resilience is a reminder of the power of kindness. It’s often said that we don’t choose our pets — they choose us. I believe this is true. As I write this column, Lucky is curled up in his soft bed in my mother’s sunroom sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world. It’s clear that we’ve all fallen in love with the cat, but also, we’ve fallen in love with the reminder of life’s unexpected blessings — one that came running out of nowhere and has stayed to claim a piece of our world.