by Ginny Fuchs
Kimba began showing signs of illness
when my daughter Sharyn was a preteen. The past year had been extremely
turbulent as Sharyn had decided to leave her father's home and move in
with me and my new husband. Sharyn had always had a special gift; she
could talk to cats and they would talk back (or so it seemed). One day I
heard Sharyn's hysterical scream coming from the basement, "Hurry
Mom, Kimba's dead!" When I reached the bottom of the stairs there
was Kimba still as corpse with an afghan thrown over him. When I removed
the afghan and began talking to Kimba, he slowly opened his eyes and
began to twitch. I explained to Sharyn that he was still alive, if
barely, and probably wouldn't live through the night. Kimba refused to
eat or move for two days. The following evening I entered the kitchen
and there was Kimba eating Chinese bamboo shoots from Sharyn's hand.
They were talking to each other in their secret language. Kimba somehow
survived for another month until one morning when Sharyn announced that
Kimba was ready to die. We took him to the Vet that day and he was
mercifully put to rest. We will always remember Kimba and his courage,
especially his love for one lonely little girl.