Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Cat
BY: Joanne Vukman
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
~Japanese Proverb
I got the call one day after school. My father had seen a little black and white kitten at the animal hospital where he used to work as a veterinarian before he started his own practice. It turned out the kitten and her mother were being fostered for the county animal shelter by a veterinarian technician. The mother cat had received a modified live virus distemper vaccine while pregnant. The vaccine infected the developing kittens. Only three were born live: one died later, one was suffering and had to be euthanized, and one was Penelope.
Penelope was about six weeks old when we took her, over my mother's protests that five cats were plenty. She couldn't be returned to the animal shelter, or she would be euthanized, and the woman fostering her couldn't have another cat. You see, Penelope was born with neurological damage that rendered her nearly unable to walk, or even to stand. Her hindquarters would randomly flip over her head, and she fell repeatedly. But she managed. She could always get where she wanted, even if it took her much longer than it would have taken a normal feline. She even had difficulty using the litter box, as she struggled to control her body long enough to do her business. Listening to her cry as she fought to hold still was heartbreaking, and more than once I steadied her. As she grew older, she learned to control her body. She was able to stand, and even to walk a dozen steps or more before falling.
Penelope was a comical cat. Watching her move, weaving from side to side, and seeing her jump up on beds and couches was always a surprise, since no one (including Penelope) knew where she would end up. It was not at all uncommon to see her smash into a wall or corner, or to miss her jump and land on the other side of a bed, rather than on top of it. We winced for her between our chuckles. The other cats didn't accept her, and never did. Only one tolerated her; the rest hissed and made it clear she was not welcome.
One would think that, in the face of all her adversity, Penelope would just give up and become a sullen, miserable cat. After all, she struggled to walk and jump, was almost always bruised from her crashes, and she was hated by her fellow felines. But she kept on going. She was a spunky, feisty, determined little cat. And she was little -- she matured at about six pounds, by far the smallest of our six cats. She held her own with the other cats and pushed around the dogs, all of whom were in the hundred pound range; she lived her life to the fullest. We soon gave up trying to keep her inside when it became clear she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the outdoors at will. Penelope lived her life to the fullest.
One day, a little less than a year and a half after that telephone call from my dad, we realized Penelope was not acting like herself. However, her lethargy was not terribly serious, and she did seem to have improved over the few hours we were watching her, so we didn't worry too much. Two days later, I called home from college to check on her. My mom answered my question "How's Nellie doing?" with the words "I was hoping you wouldn't call."
Penelope had died a little earlier. I listened to the details while holding back sobs. She had a bruised lung, bleeding in her chest, and other injuries, which we suppose were the result of being hit by a car. Those six pounds of black and white fur spoke volumes about courage in the face of adversity. She never cried about the pain she surely suffered every day as a result of her frequent falls. She never stopped trying to do what she wanted. She was a once-in-a-lifetime cat, the kind who can teach you more about life and bravery in a short year or two than the average person learns in a lifetime. Penelope was proof that a willing soul can do anything if it
just tries hard enough.
BY: Joanne Vukman
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
~Japanese Proverb
I got the call one day after school. My father had seen a little black and white kitten at the animal hospital where he used to work as a veterinarian before he started his own practice. It turned out the kitten and her mother were being fostered for the county animal shelter by a veterinarian technician. The mother cat had received a modified live virus distemper vaccine while pregnant. The vaccine infected the developing kittens. Only three were born live: one died later, one was suffering and had to be euthanized, and one was Penelope.
Penelope was about six weeks old when we took her, over my mother's protests that five cats were plenty. She couldn't be returned to the animal shelter, or she would be euthanized, and the woman fostering her couldn't have another cat. You see, Penelope was born with neurological damage that rendered her nearly unable to walk, or even to stand. Her hindquarters would randomly flip over her head, and she fell repeatedly. But she managed. She could always get where she wanted, even if it took her much longer than it would have taken a normal feline. She even had difficulty using the litter box, as she struggled to control her body long enough to do her business. Listening to her cry as she fought to hold still was heartbreaking, and more than once I steadied her. As she grew older, she learned to control her body. She was able to stand, and even to walk a dozen steps or more before falling.
Penelope was a comical cat. Watching her move, weaving from side to side, and seeing her jump up on beds and couches was always a surprise, since no one (including Penelope) knew where she would end up. It was not at all uncommon to see her smash into a wall or corner, or to miss her jump and land on the other side of a bed, rather than on top of it. We winced for her between our chuckles. The other cats didn't accept her, and never did. Only one tolerated her; the rest hissed and made it clear she was not welcome.
One would think that, in the face of all her adversity, Penelope would just give up and become a sullen, miserable cat. After all, she struggled to walk and jump, was almost always bruised from her crashes, and she was hated by her fellow felines. But she kept on going. She was a spunky, feisty, determined little cat. And she was little -- she matured at about six pounds, by far the smallest of our six cats. She held her own with the other cats and pushed around the dogs, all of whom were in the hundred pound range; she lived her life to the fullest. We soon gave up trying to keep her inside when it became clear she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the outdoors at will. Penelope lived her life to the fullest.
One day, a little less than a year and a half after that telephone call from my dad, we realized Penelope was not acting like herself. However, her lethargy was not terribly serious, and she did seem to have improved over the few hours we were watching her, so we didn't worry too much. Two days later, I called home from college to check on her. My mom answered my question "How's Nellie doing?" with the words "I was hoping you wouldn't call."
Penelope had died a little earlier. I listened to the details while holding back sobs. She had a bruised lung, bleeding in her chest, and other injuries, which we suppose were the result of being hit by a car. Those six pounds of black and white fur spoke volumes about courage in the face of adversity. She never cried about the pain she surely suffered every day as a result of her frequent falls. She never stopped trying to do what she wanted. She was a once-in-a-lifetime cat, the kind who can teach you more about life and bravery in a short year or two than the average person learns in a lifetime. Penelope was proof that a willing soul can do anything if it
just tries hard enough.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/06/Courage-in-a-Small-and-Furry-Package.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter
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