Jazmine poised on her perch.
Jazmine chose to live with my family and me when I was 15 years old. At the time I wanted a solid white cat with blue eyes.
I would have called her Jezebel. One day I saw an ad in the classifieds for a white kitten. I answered the ad and went to look at the kitty, but when I picked her up she wanted nothing to
do with me. I spied a tiny, ugly runt of a kitten in the corner of the garage. She was white, grey and taupe and she was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. I felt
sorry for her because she was alone and none of the other kitties would play with her. I picked her up and she immediately snuggled
against my chest and started to purr. I said to the owner, "This is the one I want."
I tried to call my new kitten Jezebel, but it just didn't fit her. She was not sleek and slinky and sly the way a cat named Jezebel should be.
My mom suggested we call her Jasmine. I agreed, but being 15 and having to be different, I said we would have to spell her name with a Z instead of an S.
Jazmine was a very playful kitty and loved all the attention she could force out of people. We had a game that we played that always made people laugh.
I would drag my hand on the carpet and then raise it up, causing Jaz to jump and latch onto my wrist. She would let me swing her around. She was always very
careful not to put her claws into my skin. She also liked to grab onto a sock with her mouth and let me spin her around on the carpet. Jazmine used to "fight"
my dad. She would climb out on a branch of my apricot tree and my dad would bat at her with his hand. She would staunchly defend her territory by batting back,
once again being very careful not to use her claws.
Jazmine grew up to be a beautiful cat. Well, at least on the outside. She is very territorial and well, I guess the only apt description would be "bitchy." She is not keen at all on the
idea of having other cats around. She didn't even really like to be around the litter she had once they were weaned. She wants to be the only cat in the house. Casey (below) has been with my
mother and Jazmine for almost a year now and she still hisses at him and fights with him. It's kind of funny. She acts like a mean old woman. Jazmine is getting pretty old. She is 12 now, but she
can still jump from the roof of my mom's house.
Casey Jones, the most special cat in the world.
I have often heard that cats choose their owners, and not the other way around. I've had the pleasure of experiencing this phenomenon three times. The first time was when my 11-year-old cat Jazmine,
the runt of a litter, sidled up to me and nuzzled my chest as if she loved me already. The second time, it was Fred. She was a stray kitten, abandoned by her mother, who found me one night after being
beat up by another neighborhood stray. The third time was perhaps the most special and heartwarming. The third time, it was Casey who chose me.I was living in a small apartment complex with my two cats,
Fred and her 4-year-old baby, Jimi, when a young, long-haired gray cat started hanging around my door. He was beautiful. His body was long, his fur sleek, his triangular face majestic. His eyes seemed to
drill right through my soul when they met mine. I had learned that he belonged to another resident of the complex, so I kept myself from getting too attached to him. For days on end he would disappear, but
he would always come back to my door. The building manager, Cindy, told me that the cat's owner was not taking proper care of him. I had no room in my apartment for another cat, but I certainly had room in my
heart. I began leaving food and water out for the little cat and named him Casey.
Casey would greet me at my door when I returned home from work. I would sit on the steps with him, urging him to eat. He seemed uninterested in the food before him and preferred that I just sit there and pet him
and love him. He was starved for affection as well as food. He gave me back as much love as I gave him, perhaps more.
One day when I opened the front door to look for Casey, I saw a terrible sight. There he was, walking up the sidewalk with a bloody, mangled tail that had been haphazardly wrapped in a bandage. I went to the
leasing office to ask Cindy if she knew what had happened. She told me that a car in the parking lot had hit Casey. She also told me the owner didn't take him to the vet to be cared for. It broke my heart to see him
like that, but Casey was still as loving as ever. He seemed to take his injury with a grain of salt. Now and then he would show up with a new bandage on his tail, but pretty soon there was nothing covering the open wound.
I guess the owner thought it was too much trouble. I tried to bandage his tail myself, but Casey fought me. It was the only time he ever got aggressive with me. He started to appear sick and I was just sure that infection
had set in. I learned from Cindy the man who claimed Casey had moved away. Moved away and just left him there. That broke my heart even more. He was my responsibility now and I had to take care of him.
I made an appointment with a vet. She examined Casey and found that in addition to his tail injury he also had a bad case of tapeworms. I left him for the afternoon while his tail was amputated. When I went to pick up Casey
he as very groggy and disoriented from the anesthetic. The doctor gave me some pain medication to give when the anesthetic wore off.
Casey began crying in pain as soon as we got home. The pain medicine seemed to help him a little, but it did nothing to ease my suffering. I couldn't stand to see the little guy in such pain. I kept him inside while his
tail healed. Then it was time for me to do what I did not want to do---find a home for him. I wanted so badly to keep Casey, but with two cats already, it wasn't possible. I put up fliers in pet shops. I asked everyone I met
if they wanted a beautiful, loving kitty. One neighbor took me up on the offer. But apparently Casey didn't like her because he kept running away from her and coming back to me. During all this I was preparing to move to another city.
What would I do with Casey? I felt my only other option was to take him to an animal shelter, but knowing the euthanasia statistics in shelters, I just couldn't do it. Casey would be moving with Fred, Jimi and me and the search for his new home would continue.
I never got any response from my fliers. My boss offered to take him in, but I said no. He liked Casey, but I knew he wasn't a cat lover and didn't feel he would give him the love he so badly craved. Then my mother agreed to adopt him.
She was coming to visit me and said she would take Casey with her when she left. I was overjoyed!
Naturally, Casey took to my mom just as he took to everyone else. Noone could resist Casey's loving nuzzles and pleading looks. Casey is now living a very happy, contented life with my mother. Jazmine, the 11-year-old, still hasn't developed a liking
for him, but that doesn't bother Casey. He is happy, whether he is clumsily climbing a tree and prowling outside, or taking on nap on all the forbidden furniture.
I recently went to visit my mother. I saw Casey for the first time after letting him go months earlier. He had grown and flourished so much. It was wonderful seeing him again and the best part was I think he remembered me. The entire time
I was home, he followed me around just has he had when we first met. I still wish that he was living with me, but I know he is happy where he is and that's good enough for me.
Back to Fred and Jimi
October, 29, 1999. As of today, Casey is no longer with us. Rest peacefully, sweet kitty.
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