Anthony was the runt of the litter. I'd gone on a visit to my late husband's niece's house and all the other kittens were getting adopted. Hers was not a house you would want any animal in--her husband got drunk and became violent. Her uncle had battered me in much the same way before he died.
As I slept on the couch, little Anthony wrapped himself around my neck like a fur piece, gently purring. I talked my boyfriend Jessie into one more cat over the phone. He arrived to drive us home with a small, open cardboard box. Anthony sat upright in it with total dignity. Any other cat would have been hanging upside down from the roof by his claws. Not Anthony! He rode with confidence. He knew where he was going--to a good home.
Jessie and my wonderful landlady in NY, who does animal rescue and has 14 cats at last count, were HORRIFIED at how tiny Anthony was. He was no bigger than a hot dogs with legs and a tail. My Frances, who was born on my wedding anniversary at this same niece's house the year my son died, was horribly jealous. She never liked Anthony but she tolerated him.
I didn't get my web cam until Anthony was about six months old, so I have no pictures of him when he was very tiny. But he swiftly grew and grew. He didn't need Frances's companionship. The great love of his life--25-year-old Lucy--was right outside. So was Josef, a very large cat who befriended him. All three were black cats and looked like a family!
My landlady was amazed that Lucy took to me and allowed me to pet her because Lucy had been abused. Lucy normally trusted nobody. Mrs. G said she could always tell a good tenant by Lucy's reaction. Her OTHER best tenant got daily visits from Lucy many years earlier! I told her Lucy knew that I had been abused for many years before my husband died and she recognized a kindred soul.
When Lucy became ill, Anthony would bring her home and hide her in the house. He knew, and I didn't, that my dear landlady wouldn't allow her to suffer and was planning, with a broken heart, to put her down. Lucy had been abused when Mrs. G adopted her and she calculated, really and truly, that Lucy was about 25. She had her for 20 years and she was not young when she adopted her. Anthony tried his best to hide his ladylove, to no avail.
Before Lucy died, dearest Josef, who was a stray Mrs. G was just going to adopt, became ill and was under the van when Mr. G backed out. What a tragedy! The poor man was weeping and hysterical. Jessie and I buried him and I made him a lovely illustrated poem and had it laminated before they returned from work, adding a statue of St. Jude I'd had since I was a little girl and a candle with Our Lady of Guadalupe on it. Mrs. G later purchased a beautiful headstone for him.
Frances, Anthony, and Lucy visited Josef's grave daily, standing at attention at the edge, paying tribute to their friend. Don't tell me cats aren't smart...and caring.
Jessie and I moved to Virginia to our own home this May. Frances and Anthony were safe and happy in our fenced back yard. They could go in and out under the fence but no dog could get in.
Ours is a poor neighborhood and there are many strays here. A whole family of stray kittens came for dinner each night. We nicknamed them Larry, Mo, and Curly after the Three Stooges. The runt of that litter was very friendly and decided to live on my back porch. Anthony immediately befriended him but Frances stood aloof, rejecting all offers of friendship.
Jessie relented and little Rocco became part of our family. Anthony had a protégé and taught him well. Anthony would pick the garbage bag apart every night, extracting treats like sausage wrappers for his little grey-striped friend, Rocco.
Perhaps the funniest was the night I left half a meat loaf on the counter, forgetting to refrigerate it. About 10 p.m., I went out to the kitchen for a drink of water to discover that Anthony had generously divvied it up with his partner in crime, little Rocco.
Anthony had grown very, very large--the little runt was now perhaps 50 pounds, the longest, largest cat I've seen in a long time. He was so large he was having a little trouble walking. He also got a cold about a month ago and was quite ill but recovered. He unsteadily leapt on the bed to join me, cheerful but sick.
My Jessie is in NY and Anthony had been spending every night in the house. Last Thursday, I made stewed chicken and three beggars sat watching me. I gave Anthony, Frances, and Rocco half of it, after waiting for it to cool.
Anthony looked at me with sad, knowing eyes. I wondered if he thought Rocco had replaced him. "Anthony, YOU are my baby. I love you more than anybody or anything in this world. You will always be my baby." I hugged and kissed him.
Suddenly, for just a moment, Anthony began to act like Lucy, his departed ladylove. She had a peculiar gait and cry. He looked and sounded just like her for about ten seconds.
He went over to the door, begging to go out. He looked at me with the largest, most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. He was straining to get out. I had the strong sense there was another cat waiting for him outside. He suddenly acted like the young Anthony, straining to get out to see his Lucy.
Before he left, Rocco had repeatedly walked back and forth under his huge body, stroking and loving him. Even Frances was standing at attention.
I looked for him all day Friday--every place but the right place. I searched all his haunts, calling for him. I had to do errands Friday and had an odd, sad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I was praying and had three quick pictures flash across the theater of my mind: St. Anthony, for whom Anthony was named, holding and caressing him. St. Anthony holding Baby Jesus, who petted him. Finally, St. Anthony holding my son Thomas when he was about a year old (he died in a car accident at 17), smiling and petting Anthony.
On Saturday, at 12:50 p.m., our mailman knocked at the door, gently asking if I had a black cat and gently explaining that he did not appear to be alive. Our mailman loves animals and had just lost his own precious dog.
Anthony looked asleep, very peaceful, curled up in an upright position with his head slumped forward. He was in rigor mortis and therefore had to be dead at least 12 hours, maybe quite a bit longer. MAYBE SINCE THURSDAY NIGHT.
He was just the one place I would never look. He never hung on the side of the house. I had gotten up several times during the night and checked the front and back porches, to no avail.
He looked quite alive to me. HAD I FOUND HIM AND SCOOPED HIM UP and he was dead, I would have had a heart attack. God arranged that, too. I had been praying to the Holy Family for Anthony and St. Joseph is the patron saint of the dying. Anthony had a good and peaceful death.
When I e-mailed dear Mrs. G, my landlady in NY, she said Anthony was at Rainbow Bridge and would cross it to meet me when I got to Heaven.
The next day, she e-mailed me that both she and MR. G had heard Anthony's cry a couple of nights earlier and ALL HER CATS went to the window but there was nothing there. She had feared Anthony walked back to her house in NY from VA.
I know this. Dear Lucy came for Anthony last Thursday night.
On their way to Rainbow Bridge, they stopped by at the G's house to say goodbye.
Mrs. G and I know that Anthony, Lucy, and Josef are together now forever.
We will see them again. I had another vision of my Thomas holding Anthony and playing with him.
God bless all who read this. Trust in God. Someday we will be with all our dear ones, human and furry, NEVER TO BE SEPARATED AGAIN.
My Frances watches over me in my grief, standing at attention. She insisted on coming outside with me when I shrouded Anthony.
My little Rocco tried to throw himself in the box with Anthony. He showers me with kisses at every opportunity and sleeps right by my head. He has long grey striped angora fur and is adorable. My Anthony loved him and pushed the adoption.
I must go on for them. So must you!
Love to all,
Judy
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