Jack Canfield - Chicken Soup for the Pet Lovers Soul: Stories About Pets as Teachers, Healers, Heroes and Friends

Recently my husband Gene and I traveled throughout Europe. We rented a car as we always do and drove along the back roads, staying in quaint, out-of-the-way inns. The only thing that distracted me from the wonder of the trip was the terrible longing I felt for our cat Perry. I always miss him when we travel, but this time, because we were gone for more than three weeks, my need to touch his soft fur and to hold him close became more and more intense. With every cat we saw, the feeling deepened.

We were high in the mountains of France one morning, packing the car before resuming our trip, when an elderly couple walked up to the car parked next to ours. The woman was holding a large Siamese cat and speaking to him in French.

I stood watching them, unable to turn away. My yearning for Perry must have been written all over my face. The woman glanced at me, turned to speak to her husband and then spoke to her cat. Suddenly she walked right over to me and, without one word, held out her cat.

I immediately opened my arms to him. Cautious about the stranger holding him, he extended his claws, but only for a few seconds. Then he retracted them, settled into my embrace and began to purr. I buried my face in his soft fur while rocking him gently. Then, still wordless, I returned him to the woman.

I smiled at them in thanks, and tears filled my eyes. The woman had sensed my need to hold her cat, the cat had sensed that he could trust me, and both, in one of the greatest gifts of kindness I have ever received, had acted upon their feelings.

Its comforting to know the language of cat loversand catsis the same the world over.

Jean Brody

Im afraid well have to keep him overnight.
Are you going to need a loaner?

Mike Twohy 1994 from The New Yorker Collection. All Rights Reserved.

Tailless Tom has been gone a long time now, but I still see him in my minds eye as clear as if he had died only yesterday. I see him strutting along proud as punch, his rear end with only the tiniest stump of tail on it twitching in the breeze. I like to think of Tailless Tom as my cat, which he was, but he wasnt... the way the Statue of Liberty belongs to me, but it doesnt. The truth is that Tailless Tom belonged to a whole regiment, and I think every man in that regiment belonged to him.

Tailless Toms proud way of walking might make you think he was a Manx cat, but he wasnt. He was just an ordinary brown alley cat who had lost his tailhe never told me howin his early years before we met. That was back in the early 1930s, when I first opened my animal hospital in Mount Vernon, New York.

Tom lived near the hospital with a nice but terribly squeamish lady. She couldnt stand the things Tom brought home from his daily outings in the fields that used to be plentiful around Mount Vernon.

Because he was such a friendly, gregarious cat who seemed to truly like people, Tom dropped in on me one day and I showed him around my hospital, which stood clean and empty while I waited for customers to discover me.

Shortly afterward, I met the lady with whom he lived. She dropped in for some advice about Tom. Was there any way she could stop him from bringing home the mice, moles and birds he caught?

He puts them right at my feet, Dr. Camuti, and sometimes theyre still alive!

I told her she should feel complimented. And she should be proud that her cat was such a good hunter. She sniffed at that, and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Well, I cant stand it. Im a very nervous woman and I find it upsetting.

The woman knew that I thought Tailless Tom was a terrific cat. That was why she called me a week later. She sounded close to hysteria.

Do you want Tom? Hes yours right now. I cant take it anymore.

What happened?

Her voice rose, and the words came tumbling out in a wild rush. Do you know where he is this very minute? Sitting outside the screened porch door with a snake in his mouth, and its still alive! You have to come and get him right away, Dr. Camuti, or Ill find some other way to get rid of him. I cant have this happening anymore!

I said Id be right over. Sure enough, Tom was sitting exactly where she said he was. The snake turned out to be a racer, absolutely harmless and a baby, not much larger than a big worm. Tom dropped it at my feet. I patted his head, and the snake shot off into the grass.

I brought Tom back with me to the hospital. He immediately sensed it was his new home. I told Tom that the hospital would have to be a temporary home for him because as my practice grew, the hospital was bound to fill up with all sorts of animals, and a cat in residence just wouldnt work out. I told him that I would certainly do my best to find him a good, permanent home. Tom said nothing. He just rubbed against my pants leg and purred.

With his personality, I thought Id have no trouble finding a home for Tailless Tom. People seemed interested when I told them about the cats warm, friendly disposition, but when I got to the part about his talents as a hunter, I lost many of them. And the one or two that asked to meet Tom didnt seem to find this tailless wonder as attractive as I did.

One day, I thought of a perfect solution. I was the commanding officer at the White Plains Armory on South Broadway. There were lots of people around over there, and Tom liked people. It would be a great home for him. There were plenty of open fields around the place, so Tom would have good hunting.

Tom took to army life like a duck to water, and the men fell for him. One of the sergeants made him his own dog tag and put it on a chain around his neck. Wearing the proof of how special he was, Tom strutted more proudly than ever.

Toms favorite time was when the 102nd Medical Regiment moved out to Camp Smith, near Peekskill, New York, for two weeks each summer. As a member of the regiment, Tom naturally went along.

As commanding officer of the service command at Camp Smith, one of my duties was to supply the food to the thirteen companies in the regiment. All the supply sergeants tried to give special treats to Tom as a way of pleasing me, but Tom let them know he couldnt be bought. He would just turn up his nose and march on.

Though he wasnt officially assigned to the post, Tom made mess hall inspection his job. It was a big undertaking, since there were eleven mess halls for the enlisted men and two for the officers, all strung out in a 400-foot line. Tom dropped by many of the halls two or three times a day to look things over. Obviously he had his favorite kitchens, and the men who ran them felt honored by Toms visits. Those he ignored tried desperately to lure him over, as though Tailless Tom was in charge of bestowing some terrific award, like the Duncan Hines Seal of Approval.

Tom actually made the whole camp his command, but he would always check in at my company several times a day just to give me a rub and a purr and let me know that I still stood high in his affection. But he refused to sleep in my officers tent. Tom was a born diplomat. He always bedded down with the enlisted men.

When we returned from Camp Smith, Tom went back to hunting the open fields around the armory. No matter how far he wandered, he always kept the armory in his sights, and the minute he saw men gathering for a meeting, he came racing back.

Life went on for Tom at the armory for several years. And then one day, coming back from one of his field patrols, he was run over by a car right in front of the armory. It was a loss every man felt.

There was no question about Toms funeral. It was automatically decided that he should have a full military send-off.

I dont think there was one man attached to the armory who skipped Toms funeral. He was placed in a small casket and buried in the front yard of the armory while a military salute was fired in his honor and taps was sounded. I looked down the line of men standing at attention as Tailless Tom went to his glory, and I could see the sun picking up wet spots on many faces. I admit the tears were running freely down my face.