Canfield Jack - Chicken soup for the cat & dog lovers soul : celebrating pets as family with stories about cats, dogs, and other critters

It was difficult to feel vexed by a creature thatburst into a chorus of purring as soon as I spoketo him.

Philip Brown

Some people call me a cat shrink. I call myself a feline behavior consultant. Over the years, Ive helped thousands of people and cats to have happier lives together. Mr. Vinsley was one of my most memorable clients. Originally from England, he lived in a beautiful mansion in Kentucky.

A widower for twenty-five years, Mr. Vinsley had no surviving relatives, so he was used to a life of solitude. He spent his days reading, listening to music and walking around the grounds surrounding his house. He was comfortable being alone and was not interested in making friends or engaging in silly chatter with neighbors.

One cold winter morning, Mr. Vinsley found a large gray cat sitting on his car. Having no fondness for cats, he chased the cat away and assumed that was that! But every morning for the next week, the same gray cat sat on the roof of his Mercedes.

The weather continued getting colder. Even though Mr. Vinsley didnt like cats, he hated the thought that the poor creature might freeze outside. Surely he must belong to someoneperhaps he has a collar, Mr. Vinsley thought. The next day he went outside, expecting to find the cat lounging on his car as usual. But there was no cat. Mr. Vinsley found himself checking outside every few minutes, waiting for the cat. All he wanted to do was to find the owner of this pesky feline or take it to the local shelter if it had no identification.

When the housekeeper arrived later that morning, she found Mr. Vinsley in the kitchen, spooning a can of tuna into a dish. Mr. Vinsley hurried outside and placed the tuna on the roof of his car, then went back to his warm house to wait. By late evening, he removed the tuna, now quite frozen, from the car.

Have it your way, stupid cat, Mr. Vinsley said as he went back inside the house and dumped the tuna in the garbage before going to bed.

At about 2:00 A.M., Mr. Vinsley woke up. He swears it was a terrible thirst that drove him out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. Along the way, he stopped for a quick peek out the front doorstill no cat. But just as he was closing the door he caught sight of something limping toward him. Hobbling up the driveway was the gray cat. His fur was matted and his right front paw dangled helplessly in the air. Mr. Vinsley stepped out onto the porch and the cat stopped.

Im not going to hurt you, Mr. Vinsley said. Come here and Ill help you.

The cat just looked at him, not moving.

Leaving the front door open, Mr. Vinsley went into the kitchen, where he dumped some leftover chicken onto a plate. He placed the food on the porch and leaned against the doorway. The old man and the cat just looked at each other. The cat was a tough-looking male who had obviously seen more than his share of fights. He was tall and large. Both ears were torn at the tips and his nose bore several scars.

Mr. Vinsley really hadnt cared about anybody in a long time, and he didnt know why he was so concerned about this cat now. There was just something about him. And here they were, two tough old guys so used to being alone that they didnt even know how to ask for help.

A few minutes passed. Mr. Vinsley was shivering. The cat was watching him intently. Then warily, the old cat limped up to the porch, sniffed at the plate of food, then weakly hobbled past it and through the open doorway.

Amazed that the cat had come inside, Mr. Vinsley followed him in. After some hesitation, the cat allowed him to examine his injured paw. It would need medical attention in the morning. In the meantime, the scruffy old thing would spend the night in the kitchen. But as Mr. Vinsley bent down to scoop him up, the cat darted off on his three good legs. Before he could be stopped, he was clumsily hobbling up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

Cold and tired, Mr. Vinsley climbed the stairs too. He figured the cat would be hiding under a bed. But when he reached his bedroom, he found that the cat had decided that curling up at the foot of the bed would be much more comfortable.

You couldve at least chosen one of the guest rooms, Mr. Vinsley commented.

But he was too tired to argue, so he crawled under the covers, stretching his feet out next to the cat. Dont get too used to this. Youre leaving in the morning.

The following morning, on the way to his doctors appointment, Mr. Vinsley dropped the cat off at the vets.

It was at this visit to the doctor that Mr. Vinsley learned he had cancer. Depressed, he drove home, almost forgetting to stop at the vets. In fact, when he realized he was near the animal hospital, he considered just leaving the cat there for the vet to deal with. But he stopped anyway.

The cat had a broken leg, which was in a large splint. Mr. Vinsley paid the bill and left with the cat. He didnt understand why, but he felt a tug at his heart as he held the cat. Despite his rough exterior, the cat was gentle. Wrapped in his new owners arms, his loud purr sounded like an old car engine.

Three weeks later, Mr. Vinsleys health took a turn for the worse, and he was confined to bed. The cat, by now named Dancerbecause he moved so gracefully despite his heavy splintonly left his side to use his litter box and eat.

The friendship grew deeper. When Mr. Vinsley was well enough, the pair strolled around the grounds or sat in the sun. Dancer loved to sleep in Mr. Vinsleys lap as he listened to classical music or read a book.

And another thing happened. Mr. Vinsley started chatting with his neighbors about pets. Theyd share stories and advice. After all these years, Mr. Vinsley was caring about others again. Soon his neighbors became friends who would stop by for a cup of coffee or to play cards.

It was at this point that Mr. Vinsley called me. His doctor had told him he had less than nine months to live. He was not afraid to die, he assured me. After all, he had lived a good seventy-seven years and would face the end with dignity. All of his business was in order.

Theres just one important thing left to do, Mr. Vinsley told me sadly. I need to take care of Dancer. Since I found him, weve been best friends. I need you to find him a home while Im still alive. I want to know that hell be getting the love and care he deserves. Ill provide for his medical and food expenses. He was quiet for a moment and then said, I know anyone else would think Im a foolish old man, worrying about some cat, but hes been by my side through the tough times. Hes a wonderful friend, and I want to make sure he lives a good life without me.

There was something so sincere and compelling about this mans love for his cat that I couldnt refuse. After a lengthy search, I found a potential home for Dancer with Ruth, a sweet but lonely widow.

When Ruth met Mr. Vinsley and Dancer, all three of them hit it off. Mr. Vinsley took great pleasure in telling Ruth all about Dancers likes and dislikes.

Eight months after I first met Mr. Vinsley, he was taken to the hospital. At Mr. Vinsleys request, I drove to his house and collected Dancers things. As if he knew what was about to happen, Dancer was waiting for me in Mr. Vinsleys room. He sat quietly on the bed. The housekeeper walked me to my car. She touched my arm and thanked me for helping Mr. Vinsley. There were tears in her eyes. Shed worked for him for fifteen years.

Later that day I visited Mr. Vinsley to tell him that Dancer was in his new home. He smiled. We talked a little more and then he drifted off to sleep. I stood by the bed for a few moments. Ill keep watch over Dancer for you, I whispered. Two days later Mr. Vinsley died.

Ive since visited Dancer several times, and hes very happy. He follows Ruth the same way he did Mr. Vinsley. And Ive noticed that Ruth looks more content than when I first met her. She proudly told me that Dancer sleeps next to her in bed.