"Bloodroot" by Patience

That summer I fell in love with Maury and all things cat. Christa recognized my passion and bought me colorful cat picture books and an occasional copy of Cat Fancy. She let me help care for her tiny fur ball. I fed, brushed, and played with him, and even helped clean his litter box.

I loved Maury, but desperately wanted a kitten of my own. I hounded Mom—begged, pleaded, cajoled, and promised to be good forever—to no avail.

After Christa and Maury left in the fall, the house felt empty, even with six brothers bounding around. I continued pestering Mom for a kitten, obviously driving her crazy; I couldn’t help myself. Christmas, only a few months away, might be my best chance.

Christa arrived home late on Christmas Eve. My heart sank to my toes when she walked through the door empty-handed. I looked into her beautiful blue eyes. My dream was lost. I sobbed and ran to my bedroom.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock. “Cindy?” The door opened.

“What?” I sat up and then buried my face in the pillow I clutched.

“Please don’t cry,” Christa said. “Here, I want you to open your present early.” When she set the gift on my lap, something tickled my arm. I pulled my face from the pillow and wiped away tears. The most adorable kitten I ever saw stared at me.

“Oh, Christa,” I cried, “you’re the best big sister ever! I’m going to name her Tiki.”

She smiled and hugged me. I had never loved anyone more.

Over the years, Christa became an extreme cat lover. She couldn’t resist a kitten, especially a stray. At one time, six cats lived in her two-bedroom home. “Enough,” her husband, Danny declared. “No more cats!”

Christa reluctantly agreed, until one day a diminutive tabby with enormous green eyes appeared on her doorstep. How could she turn him away? She named him Rollo, and promised Danny this would be the last cat.

A few months later, Rollo lost his appetite and grew sluggish. “Feline Leukemia,” the vet said. “Have your other cats been immunized?”

They hadn’t. Christa lost all but two of her beloved cats to the devastating disease.
“Enough,” Danny again said. “No more cats!”

Christa feared that her two remaining pets might be carriers of the deadly infection. For once, she wholeheartedly agreed with Danny and refrained from bringing new cats into the house until both had aged and passed away.

Christa’s feline love affair had not been deterred, however, only put on hold. Determined to find just the right kitten, she and her son, Erik, roamed the local animal shelters until she found Mikado, a gorgeous gray Korat, with golden eyes. It was love at first sight. “I’ll take this little girl,” she told the attendant.

“Well, that one’s a little complicated. See that big boy in there?” The woman pointed to the back of Mikado’s cage. “His name’s Timmy. We call him that ‘cause he’s so timid. He was abused somethin’ awful.” She poked her finger through the cage for Mikado to sniff. “This one’s like a mom to him. If you want to adopt her, you’ve gotta take Timmy too.”

Christa turned to Erik. “What do you think?”

“Dad’s gonna kill you, Mom.” Erik shook his head. “He said only one.”

She gazed at Mikado’s round face and almond eyes. “We’ll take them both,” Christa said.

For the first few days, Timmy hid under the bed and Mikado stayed with him. The family showered love on Timmy whenever possible and, ever so slowly, he began making small ventures out. One day, Timmy showed up in the living room and started playing with a toy Christa left for him. He played for an hour and then curled up on the sofa. From that day forward, Timmy and Mikado were beloved members of the family.

One day, while working in her organic garden, Christa began to wheeze. She thought it was odd, but kept working. Over the next several months, the wheeze grew louder and more frequent. Her breathing was strained and she developed a chronic cough.

“Asthma,” the doctor said.

“Asthma? But I’ve never been allergic to anything in my life.” Christa stared at the doctor with wide eyes. “Could it be the cats?” She swallowed hard.

“Might be. Some people develop allergies to cats over time.” The doctor wrote several prescriptions and sent her home.

Over the next several months, Christa’s condition worsened. She lost her appetite and felt exhausted.

One morning Danny called me. “I don’t know what to do with your sister,” he said. “She’s getting sicker every day, but won’t go to the doctor. She’s convinced it’s just asthma. I’m afraid it’s something more. Please call her, she listens to you.”

I hung up and called my brother, Carl, who is a physician. “I have a pulmonologist friend,” Carl said. “I’ll get Christa an appointment tomorrow.”

The next night Christa called me. “Well, the good news is, the doctor doesn’t think it’s a cat allergy.”

“That’s a relief,” I said.

“She said it could be anything from a peanut stuck in my airway to . . . cancer.”

“Cancer?” My heart thudded and I choked back tears. “I’m voting for the peanut.”

“Me, too,” she said.

The next day Christa’s left lung collapsed. So large was the malignant tumor, it had obstructed nearly three-fourths of her airway. Her fiftieth birthday was a few days away.

Determined to beat her cancer, Christa endured a battery of tests, radiation, and chemotherapy. Even after the cancer spread to her adrenal glands, she fought. She participated in a lung cancer vaccine clinical trial, which involved the surgical removal of her left adrenal.

Radiation slowly destroyed the tumor in her lung and she was through the worst of chemotherapy. After a year of battling the deadly disease, she appeared to be winning. All through her painful journey, little Mikado was her constant companion.

One day she noticed Mikado sneeze, then sneeze again, and again. Each day it grew worse. Danny took Mikado to the vet. “They don’t know exactly what’s wrong,” he said. “Apparently, respiratory problems are common in her breed.”

Mikado seemed better for a few weeks, but the sneezing returned. This time the vet ran a series of tests and came back with a devastating diagnosis–-pseudomonas–-a bacteria that could be passed to humans, especially those with weak lungs.

“Get the cat out of the house right away,” the vet advised. They had no choice but to have Mikado put down.

Christa’s heart shattered. She cried for days. She couldn’t eat, barely got out of bed, and grew weaker. The cancer had spread to her right adrenal gland, and the organ was failing. After a weeklong hospitalization, she began chemotherapy again. The steroids she needed to replace her adrenal function accelerated the cancer’s growth.

I said a tearful goodbye to my husband, Patrick, and my cat, Whiskers, in Virginia as I left to stay full-time with Christa, Danny, and Erik in Phoenix, Arizona. I spent my days helping Christa bathe, dress, and eat, giving her IV fluids, doling out her many medications, and giving comfort however I could. At least once a day Christa lamented the loss of her sweet “little girl,” Mikado. “I miss her so much,” she said, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

The day before our mutual birthday, Patrick arrived to celebrate with us. We all knew it was the last birthday we would share with Christa. Early the next morning, soft sobs came from the bathroom.

“Christa?” I called. “What is it?”

She opened the door. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t want to upset you on your birthday.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Just tell me why you’re crying.”

“I thought I saw Mikado by the bathroom door. It made me miss her so much.”

I hugged her and stroked the fine strands of hair that had grown back on her head. In that instant, I made up my mind that Christa would have a new kitten for her birthday. As soon as I settled her in bed, I whispered to Patrick, “I have to take Christa to the doctor in about an hour. As soon as we leave, get on the phone and find a pet store with female kittens.”

He stared at me wide-eyed. “Aren’t you going to ask Danny first?”

“I’ll call him,” I said. “If he doesn’t want the cat after Christa’s gone, I’ll take her home with me.”

“What about Whiskers? She hates other cats.”

“I know,” I said. “She’ll learn to live with it.”

That afternoon Patrick and I drove to a neighborhood pet store that claimed to have many female kittens. We rushed to the cat cage but found only four kittens–three males and a sickly little girl. A lump formed in my throat. “I can’t take Christa that kitten,” I cried.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed directory assistance. Every call turned into a dead end. I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my God, it’s five o’clock,” I said. “Where will I find a kitty now?”

I dialed once more and reached a helpful woman who informed me that the PetSmart in North Scottsdale holds all the kittens until adoption-day on Saturday.

“Drive,” I said to Patrick. “We’re going to Scottsdale.”

“You’re kidding? In this traffic?”

“Please?” I put on my seatbelt and crossed my arms.

Fifty minutes later we reached PetSmart. Before Patrick turned off the engine, I was racing across the parking lot. They simply had to have the right kitten.

At first we found only full-grown cats, but then we came to a cage with three little sisters. “How about that one?” I pointed to a calico with an orange patch on her forehead.

“The sign says she’s already been adopted,” he answered.

“Oh, no.” My eyes stung. “I know I’m supposed to get Christa a kitten today. Where is she?”

A little tabby with an adorable black-rimmed nose appeared from behind a scratching post and leapt at a toy. “Oh my God, look at her . . . she’s perfect!”

“She sure is,” Patrick said. “I’ll get the clerk. Let’s get this done so we can get back to your sister.”

An hour later we pulled into Christa’s driveway. “I’ll go in,” I said. “You get the cat out of the carrier and bring her to the kitchen in a few minutes.”

As I walked into the living room, Christa looked up from her favorite rocking chair. “Where have you been?”

“I went to get your present,” I said. “But it’s too big for me to wrap. So shut your eyes and I’ll bring it in.”

Christa closed her eyes and sat quietly. Patrick brought the kitten to me and I placed the tiny bundle on her lap. She must have felt the tickle of tiny whiskers because her eyes popped open. “You got me a little girl!” Tears sprung from her eyes. “Oh, Sister, this is my best present ever!”

I thought back to the Christmas Eve when she had placed little Tiki in my lap. Yes, for my spiritual twin, a kitten was the best gift.

Christa and her kitty became inseparable. At naptime, the kitty sought out Christa’s lap to the exclusion of all others. “It’s as if she’s an angel sent from heaven to sit on your lap,” I said.

“That’s it!” She stroked her little girl. “That’s her name, Angel!”

Christa lived only three more weeks; she spent much of that time peacefully stroking tiny Angel on her lap.

After Christa’s memorial service, family and friends came to the house. From across the room I heard someone say, “Look, that cat’s got angel wings!”

I thought I heard him wrong. “What do you mean?”

“Watch,” he said.

As Angel crouched down, her light gray undercoat popped out at the shoulder blades like miniature wings.

“See,” he said, “angel wings!”

My tears welled. “Now I know she really is an angel.”

A few days later I sat at the computer making flight arrangements. I had decided to stay in Phoenix a few weeks longer to help Danny and Erik settle into their new lives. Danny sat beside me. He took my hands in his. “It’s time for you to go home, Cindy.”

“I know, that’s why I’m making flight arrangements.”

“No,” he said, “not in a few weeks, in a couple of days.”

“But I don’t want to leave you guys.” I sobbed and hugged him.

“I know, but it’s time. Erik and I need to get on with our lives and you need to go home to your family.”

“You’re right . . . it’s just so hard. What about Angel?”

“Take her,” he said. “You need her.”

I couldn’t argue with him on that point, and I desperately wanted Angel with me. “What about Timmy? He was so lonely without Mikado and he loves Angel.”

“Timmy will be okay. I’ll take care of him.”

A few days later I walked through my front door in Virginia with Angel. Whiskers greeted me with a meow until she recognized a feline scent. She sniffed the air and hissed. I smiled at Patrick. “Don’t worry, they’ll figure out how to get along.”

Over the next several weeks grief consumed me. It took everything I had to get through the basics of living. Mostly, I sat on the sofa, stroked Angel who seemed to know just when to curl up on my lap, and mourned the loss of my spiritual twin.

Today, as I watch our nearly-grown kitten skitter a twist-tie across the room, I realize most people would look at her and say she’s just a cat. I know differently. I know she’s an angel sent from heaven for two sisters—and she’s got the wings to prove it.