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A dear gentle big-hearted friend of mine who often finds herself helping waifs and strays told me the following tale which happened just last month.
Amazing Grace
I hate supermarket shopping, and only find it at all tolerable if I go early before the crowds. Often I get there around seven - dog in rear of car - anoraked and booted ready for walking the Rainow hills and meeting friends for a sort of doggie play group by quarter to eight. This morning, two days before a trip to Geneva to visit my niece, I was a little later,as Graham(my husband) had offered to do the dog run himself to give me more time in the day for preparing to travel. Thus, I was driving home in the thick of the rush hour around 8.30 when I sighted a small greyish cat in front of a large four by four. She had plainly been at least bumped, and was in that long, low, frightened crouching position, before taking off in front of me and diving under the nearest parked car on my nearside.
Fortunately there was room to park, which I did, rather inelegantly. I thought the best hope was to find a friendly passer-by who might volunteer to go to the outer side of the car and try to encourage the cat to come forward to me in the hope that I could catch her, But the only person was a bit of a no hoper with a moaning small child and a yappy Jack Russell. I was nervous of frightening the cat back into the road in the path of the ever increasing traffic. She was plainly frightened and distressed and began moving up and down between the parked vehicles. I tried to keep her in my sights talking to her all the time and eventually she seemed to settle - under my own car. I upped the soft talk and to my delight she started to come to me, but the moment I made a move, she was back under the car. Behind me was Nosh and Breks, where several kindly women feed many a hungry man. I made a lunge through the door and pleaded for some bacon which was readily given - though I declined the proffered plate. I was horribly afraid that in those seconds I would have lost the cat from view, but she was still there, and found the smell of bacon irresistible. She came out, I moved, she retreated, but the next time I got my act together, gathered her up into my arms and managed to slide into my car on the passenger side. She made no resistance once I was holding her. I put her gently on to the back seat while I slid to the driver?s side and took a proper peek at her over my shoulder. So pretty, so thin so full of purrs. She was a mixture of grey and ginger, her face mask half and half, neatly divided down her nose.You?d have thought she was in heaven she was so rapturous - even though between us the saving bacon had not made it into the car, she was ecstatic, I can only think it was that suddenly she felt safe.
I would have liked to tell the bacon donors that I had succeeded so far, but I was certainly not going to risk opening the car door, and my attempts to attract attention through one inch of opened window failed miserably. Just as well I was not calling for help! I sent Graham a text message to tell him I was up to my waifing and straying again and then set off with cat in car to reach our vet who would just have opened. Maybe one should not drive with an injured, stray cat loose in one?s car, but no alternative scheme presented itself, and as it happened she was no trouble whatsoever, though she did end up purring ferociously on my lap.
The lovely nurse at the vet soon had her installed in a warm, cosy cage awaiting the arrival of the vet, to whom I spoke at midday. His assessment was not all roses. Though the car damage was minimal, he thought her to be about fifteen, drastically undernourished, with an eye infection and a very groggy liver. She was, by now, on a drip to try to re-hydrate her, but the most worrying thing was that he thought she might have a condition which while not a death sentence was serious and could be passed to other cats. I think he said infectious peritonitis. She was not chipped and had obviously been trying to fend for herself for some time, but growing more and more frail. It seemed a miracle however, that she had survived thus far and he would do further tests ready for my return from Geneva. He too, thought she was lovely.
I visited the dear little soul on the Thursday (eve of departure) and there she was with a blue bandage wrapped round her leg, attached to a tube and a drip but purring fit to bust. By this time the nurse had fallen in love with her because despite all the needles being stuck in her and all the pulling around, she had not stopped purring. Neither could she stop eating. She had literally been starving. I remember when we first had Nelle, whom I found at the boy?s school years ago, she ate and ate, almost till she was sick, simply because she could not believe that now there would always be food available.
I went off to Geneva with mixed feelings, remembering only too well that on my previous visit in November last year, Lenni had died from a thrombosis the day before my journey. This time I grieved for all that this poor little cat had suffered and worried as to how far it would be possible to re-home her if she could not be with other cats. This view was endorsed when I spoke to Cindy at our local Cats Protection - people do not want old cats and anyone prepared to take one will already have cats of their own.
However, while away, the idea came to me that our son, Harry, might be prevailed upon to help. He already is a second home for Kish - our dog - and provided the cat did not freak out at being in a small house with her sometimes, it might work. Over the weekend - a glorious one in the Swiss mountains - Graham told Harry the sad story, and he, bless him, with no prompting, volunteered. I decided to call the cat Grace - she was after all, grey and had escaped with her life by the grace of God.
There was more good news, as speaking to the vet on my return, he told me the blood test had shown the cat to be clear of infection. But she was still fragile, not strong enough to withstand inoculation as yet, so that the home with Harry still seemed far the best option. And, of course, I would visit and advise as needed. We went together to the surgery so that he could meet Grace and do some bonding. I like to think she recognised me. She was certainly thrilled to see both of us. If she continued to make good progress - she was still eating like a mini-horse - she would be well enough to come to Harry on Monday 23rd October. She may only have had a short time to enjoy a happy home but she certainly deserved all that we could give her. She may only be a little old frail cat, but she has come through so much suffering, determined to live and to give her love and trust - amazing.
Over the next few days I was able to return to the bacon donors and give them the good news. I visited Grace again and arranged with the vet that we could collect her on Monday 23rd October, by which time her eyes should be healed and she would generally be stabilised with all trace of jaundice gone. On Tuesday of this week I called early in the morning, had a lovely cuddle and took photos of her on the surgery table. She was, as always, hugely affectionate, though now she was feeling better and steadier on her legs she was becoming stressed and stroppy when being given the treatments she needed. Despite all the eating she had not been putting on weight and over the previous 24 hours it had been noticed that she was drinking a lot. The nurse said they would be doing a further blood test soon.
On Wednesday morning I had a call from the vet, with the sad news that Grace was suffering from diabetes. He thought this was the underlying reason for her liver being in such a bad state, though the diabetes had not properly shown itself until the jaundice and her general weakness had been brought under control. As he explained, this altered the whole scenario. Grace would need daily insulin injections more or less at the same time each day, which would stress her out and be a huge commitment, which I did not feel was fair to Harry, who soon will be working shifts.
In these sort of circumstances I think you can only be guided by the professional advice. I know our vet as a friend, and he is the vet for our local animal sanctuary. He never gives up lightly, so that if he said it would be the kindest thing to let her go then I believed him; we had come to the end of Grace?s road.
I asked to be with her, and an appointment was made for five o?clock. Meanwhile the nurse had been giving her cuddles and lots of food and Harry had come round to help make a beautiful place for her in our garden, I could not bear to think of any other alternative. Grace came to me and purred and purred as I fondled her, then gently on the table the vet tranquilised her and she became sleepy while still purring as I stroked her and talked to her. Her poor little front legs were sore from previous injections and blood tests, so I suggested a back leg for the final shot. Usually the veins are not big enough there, but Grace was a trooper to the end - the vein available - she slipped so gently, still purring, from us, while I continued to rub her head and talk soothing nothings to her. We placed her in the basket as if curled asleep, wrapped in a woollen shawl.
Poor little Grace, the vet said that to have had diabetes she must at some stage have been plump and no doubt loved - whatever had happened, for her to have been found so ill, frightened and abandoned?
To be honest I think she thought she had gone to heaven when she arrived at the vet?s two weeks ago. Now perhaps she is truly there. I had never scattered Lenni?s ashes from last year. Now, it somehow felt the right moment to put them under the fir tree close to Grace. A comfort (however silly) that these two cats who had never known each other, but were linked by my love and my journeys to Geneva, should be in some way, together. The autumn sun was still glowing warm, and the leaves golden on the grass, as Harry arrived to give her a final caress and to help me bury her. Despite the sadness of it we felt we had given this little cat of our best. Amazing Grace, who had suffered much, but at the end had a home to go to and people to love her and weep at her passing.
 ? Jenny Melmoth - October 2006
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