A World of Love, Wrapped Up in Fur
There wasn’t room for a pet in my life. No way could I take one home, I was just going to look. Really. Just looking. But the best of intentions don’t matter a whit so far as the heart is concerned. So the moment she looked up at me with those wide green eyes, I was lost.
This is a love story. It’s the story of a timid and worried heart, one that had been abandoned by an uncaring someone. It is also the story of a woman whose heart had room to spare. But most of all, it’s the story of how a tiny, fur-covered meow machine can change your world forever.
When I was 22 and pregnant with my first child, things weren’t going well. My husband and I had already begun drifting apart, even though we had only been married a few years. While I was already in love with the child in my belly, a part of my heart felt empty.
Then Chezzer came along.
She was a little ball of white fluff with black markings. Her fur was the longest of any cat I had ever seen, and her green eyes were wide, aware of everything happening around her. When I brought her home, she immediately claimed my favorite white shirt as her own. That was only the first of all she stole. Later it was food from my plate, pens from my desk, and every piece of my heart she could get her little claws around.
Her favorite way to play was batting her jingly ball on the smooth linoleum of the kitchen, where she’d get a running start and slide for 10 feet before she finding her balance again. Sometimes she’d slide for no reason at all other than the sheer fun of it. When she did that, I laughed until my belly hurt, until I was worried I would shake that baby inside of me loose.
It was obvious what I gave Chezzer: a warm place to sleep, a welcoming lap, plenty of food (home-cooked more often than not!), all her shots, and enough love that it sometimes threatened to smother the little five-pound darling.
But what I gave her paled in comparison to what she gave me.
I had my first child, then another, in rapid succession. With two children younger than 18 months, life suddenly became a carnival ride of diapers and doctor visits, formula and baby toys. Chezzer took it all in stride, curling up protectively beside sleeping babies, rubbing around my ankles as I cooked dinner, batting at my toes as I watched TV.
If one of the children woke in the night, Chezzer was immediately at my side, patting my shoulder with her paw, telling me in her silent way to wake up and take care of whoever needed mothering. When someone was sick, Chezzer stood vigil, sometimes peering down at a sleeping face for hours, her eyes shining with both worry and adoration.
When I inevitably faced divorce, I was the one who needed mothering. And Chezzer, bless her little heart, knew it better than I did.
It was a difficult time. Anyone who has gone through a divorce knows the pain. Anyone who has gone through a divorce with two little children knows the pain has no measurable depth. You simply move forward and hope that one day you will find yourself on the other side of it, finally able to breathe deeply again.
There were long nights when I couldn’t sleep, and even more nights when I lay in bed crying, questioning everything. The divorce was my decision, but was I doing the right thing?
There was one constant during those times, the little ball of white fur that curled up beside me, pressing her nose into my palm and purring quietly. She’d lie there all night long if that’s what she had to do, never leaving my side. During the day, she screened anyone who came to my door, looking them up and down with her keen eyes, watching every move they made. She was always protective of the kids, but after the divorce, she was fiercely protective of me.
The pain of the divorce diminished with time. I began dating again, but any potential suitor had to pass Chezzer’s test. If she hissed at him when he walked in the door, he was out. If she purred at him or jumped into his lap, he was in. It was pretty simple. If a guy didn’t understand that, well, he wasn’t the guy for me. Chezzer and I were a team, and by that time, we had been a team for many years. I trusted her more than I trusted anyone else on earth.
A little animal can get to the heart of the matter without much trouble. Anyone who thinks a cat is “just a cat” or a dog is “just a dog” has never had a precious little creature steal her heart. The unconditional love those little ones can shower upon you has no comparison. Their instinct and intuition is more certain that that of any human, and they can always read you like a book.
With Chezzer around, life was richer. She was a constant and willing source of entertainment. Many a night I sat on the kitchen floor with a glass of wine and watched her go crazy over catnip toys. She was a constant listener, that tiny presence who came running at the sound of my voice. She was the one waiting at home for me, no matter what day or hour, meowing from behind the door the moment she heard my key in the lock. She was the one who bounded onto the windowsill at the first sounds of the school bus coming down the road, and she never failed to greet the children at the door, her happiness as clear as those purrs that rattled her whole body.
In fact, if I had to describe her in one word, that would be it — happiness.
Chezzer lived a long, rich life. I’ve never known a better friend or a fiercer ally. She was my one constant, the little soul whose eyes took in everything, who tried her best to take away all my hurts, who purred in contentment when those she loved the most were happy. She was a beautiful, joyous presence that made all of us better for having known her.
I can think of no better tribute to offer her than this: The next time you pass by a sign for your local animal shelter, turn around and go back. Walk into the building and let your heart do all the talking. You might think there isn’t room in your life for a furry companion, but you’re wrong. Once your heart falls head over heels in love, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without that fuzzy ball of affection.
Believe me, because I know. Chezzer taught me.
