The cat at the pound didn’t meet any of the requirements. I needed a short-haired outdoor cat because my then husband had allergies. This one had long gray fur and was “inside only”.
She, like all the cats in this room, was very sick and was soon to be put down. Unlike the rest who were curled up miserably in their corners, she yowled vehemently at the bars, her eyes full of green goo. In between batting at the door, she sneezed violently. She had beautiful green eyes and shimmering blue-gray fur.
These were no pleading mews but howls of protest. How could I leave her there? I thought I would return her to the pound when she was well and give her more time since I doubted I would be able to keep her. I named her Lady Jane after the ill-fated queen of England. Unlike her namesake, Lady Jane did not meet a tragic end. Miraculously, she didn’t trigger allergies and her luck continued to hold.
When she was 15, Lady Jane covered herself in polyurethane. She ran across the newly polyurethaned floors of my house and encased herself in it. I rushed her to the vet, but the vet didn’t hold out much hope. She had ingested a lot of industrial grade chemicals and removing it from her skin would require several hours of anesthesia. I told them to try anyway. Four hours later, the vet called and said, clearly surprised herself, that Jane was fully awake and demanding food.
Jane came home the next day. She lived, as she had before, a kindly but imperious dowager. I would like to say that Lady Jane and I were good friends or at least that she was grateful. She never bit or scratched but clearly her station was above me. At 21 years old, Lady Jane woke up and couldn’t stand. We had a few conversational words and she went to sleep. Good night, Lady Jane, I am as I always was, your obedient servant.
Story submitted by Jocelyn Demuth from Chelmsford, Massachusetts.
This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!