Foggy's World

“She dances through the flower-filled room –
Sea-green eyes a-sparking.
Or are they blue? The message clear: Seduce the master, winking.

Dainty feet circles inscribe
Upon the frozen parquet.
Arabesque in compound time: Stately Pavane or Bourée.

Sultry smile, come hither gaze –
Black hair softly shining.
Calls me up to half-lit bed.
Sweet cloud with golden lining.

Oh, so young with ageless smile –
Born of ungodly maker
Draws me: moth to candle bright –
Fiery pleasure-seeker.

She dances through the flower-filled room –
Sea-green eyes a-sparking.
It’s Rupi’s dance: the message clear.
Her movement does the talking.”

--Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull from Rupi’s Dance, 2002

I really must note that I have written about my male cat counterparts far more often of late than my special female feline.

With all due respects to Foggy; the boys simply take up more time and are more readily available.

For the last year or two, Foggy has concentrated on solitary confinement in the form of remaining for the 23. 5 hours of the day to the upstairs. Her arthritis has made it increasingly difficult to navigate the stairway. In fact, more often than not, she needs my help to lift her from the bench at the foot of the bed to pick her up and place in her slumber chamber.

Foggy’s time with me is mostly regulated to the evenings, where I make sure to read for 45 minutes a night with Foggy purring next to me. She urges me to scratch her ear as she head-butts my chest and purrs. Its a bonding thing.

Foggy is my three-legged wonder cat that some bastard decided to harm. Foggy came to me at six weeks old when my great friend Becky called me to inform me that she knew of a three-legged cat that was brought into the Humane Society’s area of a local vet. Everyone was amazed that Foggy had purred after a flea bath as they removed the dead fleas because she craved attention. Most cats hate the baths and have to be sedated, but Foggy just loved people.

When I met Foggy, she reached out and touched my face with her paws. I instantly fell for the sweet little girl. I took Pam to meet her, and Foggy defecated on her arm—so I knew I had someone on my team.

Upon examination from the vet, it was discovered that Foggy had been held in the air and someone crushed her arm at a ninety degree angle when they chopped her foot off. She was also thrown to the ground, as she had her hips broken in what looked like three areas. She healed, improperly of course, but she managed to get around and adjust.

Hell is not cruel enough for the slime that hurt this innocent cat when she was a six-week old kitten.

This allegedly free cat cost me over seven hundred dollars in medical expenses, as she came to me with intestinal problems, a weak sphincter nerve, and worms. Still, she seemed to look up at me with her big eyes and want attention and care.

I was hooked, and I have never regretted taking her.

That was fourteen years ago and Foggy has been a strong companion since.

If she could talk, she would tell us all to learn to forgive others for their misgivings and their cruelty. I try to forgive others, but Foggy is much more accepting to others misgivings than I could ever be.

Often I ignore her lesson of life, but Foggy still preserves as she has to face Guinness’ harassment and Chum’s size. And Peppy could be downright cruel to Foggy. Still she purrs when she sees me and the other cats.

She seems to accept both Guinness and Chum as “stupid males” as Foggy is clearly queen of the house—often sleeping perched upright on the pillow next to me.

So in this moment, I give the nod to Foggy; a cat that captures my compassion and the spirit of trust to mankind against adverse conditions.

There should be a bit more Foggy in us all.