Oscar

Oscar had a hard start in life. He was born in Maximum Security Prison. Every now and then, the guards would clear all the cats out of the prison, but Oscar was smuggled from inmate to inmate when he was just 4 weeks old. They stuffed him in a box destined for a factory outside of town. About two days later, one of the workers in the factory discovered him and tried to find him a home.

My husband at the time, a wonderful man, called me and told me there was a kitten for me and to come get it. I took one look at the poor little thing and didn't have much hope. I took him home and cleaned him up and fed him a raw egg and some cream. He looked at me from his little button-black eyes with wonder. I spent the next 2 days nursing him and building his strength. He was barely 4 weeks old. By the time he was healthy, he was into everything he saw. I named him Oscar because he was a winner. He would come through.

About a year later, my husband and I had a bad patch and I drove off. Oscar was near the car, and I was afraid I'd run him over, so I threw him in the car with me. I spent the night with a girlfriend and went into a program to change my life for 2 months. Oscar went into a cat shelter. I visited him once a week, 75 miles round trip. I brought cases of cat food to pay for his shelter. He lived for my visits. My work schedule changed, and there was a 10-day stretch. The foster mom called me and told me Oscar was in bad shape, and to come right away. It was another four days. Two full weeks before I could see my baby again! When I got there, he'd turned a corner. He'd decided to live, to be a cat, not a baby. A week later, I was able to bring him home. He turned every rug on the floor into a sled or airplane. They all went flying. He was so glad to have full run of the house! He never let a closed door be between us again.

My marriage failed, and I moved into an apartment. My sister brought over a female about a year younger and he treated her with great respect and showed her where the food bowls were and the litter box was. I set up a second litter box and the scared little girl settled in. Oscar played with her, gently at first, and they built up to a rough-and-tumble lover couple. He would wash her for as long as she'd let him. Then she would get fed up and the tumbling would start. They were Zeus and Hera to each other for years.

Oscar learned from one our dogs to dig at the carpet under a closed door. I was faced with a terrible decision: to replace the carpet in the apartment, get them new homes or remove their front claws. Since he was teaching his wife the same trick, I had them both declawed. It was a turning point for her, because she became much more outgoing. Oscar found a new way to play - the slap and run. Oscar went from being an indoor-outdoor cat to being a full-time indoor cat. He missed the outside at first, but he grew to be OK with it.

Oscar liked to sit under the lampshades at night and chase the moths and little flying bugs I couldn't see. At about five years old, his sight started to fail. Probably because of this behavior and his rough start. By six, he was totally blind. During his fifth year, he got out and into the yard next door where a pit bull lived. I flashed a flashlight until he saw it, calling his name. He followed the beam on the ground until he was close enough for me to pick him up. He purred his loudest and never left the house again without me.

One time, I was gardening with Oscar, and he wandered off after the scent of a flower or the shadow of a butterfly. He passed between the pickets in the fence and ended up in the common driveway. My neighbor came through and honked his horn. Oscar didn't know what to do, so he meowed loudly. I came running. I told my neighbor that Oscar was blind, but thank God my neighbor was used to the other cats along the drive! Oscar and I went back into the yard and he stayed very close after that.

Oscar would sleep on the pillow next to my head, put his muzzle in my ear and purr. It's a wonder I'm not deaf. From one end of the house to the other, you could hear his purr.

Oscar would never back down. You could pick on him for hours, and he would keep coming back for more. We had a game called "pick-pick." I'd pick at a stray hair sticking out farther than the rest and say pick-pick. He would try to half-heartedly bite me, but never clamp down. He would bat at me, trying to get me back. I'd finally tire of the game after about 10 minutes, call him to me and he'd crawl into my lap and purr. He was always very close to me.

When Oscar was about 10, I had surgery and he had to stay with a friend while I was in the hospital. He refused to use the litter box during this time, and never quite made it back into it. He'd try, but he couldn't quite get the hang of keeping his back feet in the sand. He'd back up to the box and as soon as he felt the edge, he'd let go. Knowing Oscar the way I did, I understood he was trying, and never gave up on him. About this time, his teeth started to get pretty inflamed, so I would scrape them. He would only eat soft food for a while, and he finally gave up on the crunchies totally when he was 11.

His health started to fail when he was 12. He would have bouts of shooting diarrhea. You could tell it bothered him, because he would grunt trying to get it out as fast as possible. It was almost like he had a blockage or polyp in his bowels he was trying to expel, he strained so hard. I gave him small doses of immodium liquid and lots of water. He would recover after a day or so, and then it would start again a few weeks later. This went on for over a year. When he was 13, the immodium stopped working. Never a robust cat, usually around 9 lbs, Oscar's weight dropped to under 8, and I had to let him go. He finally bit me hard for the first time in his life as the sedative took it's toll.

Oscar taught me to never back down and never give up. He taught me loyalty and love. He taught me that everyone is welcome and we should do for them. He was never a jealous cat. He shared me with cats and dogs alike. He understood that he was the one who slept at my head in the bed, and that I loved him. He trusted me completely. When I was at my lowest, I wouldn't give up because of Oscar. I couldn't give him away - ever. He'd never survive. We were so bonded.

He probably could have held on another few months, but I couldn't do that to him. I didn't want him to suffer any more with his congenital intestinal problem. You see, he had an umbilical hernia all his life. It was a birth defect. If the inmates hadn't smuggled him around, his mother cat might well have killed him. As it was, with me, he had a long, full life. I had him cremated. I want our ashes to be mingled at my death.

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