The Little Squirt
The Little Squirt ("Squirt," "Squirty," sometimes even "Skaverty" --
"ska-VER-tee -- as a Russian might say it) was very likely a purebred
Russian Blue. She showed up on the front porch in 1983 wearing a cute
but frayed collar. She was already spayed and looked as if she'd had
several litters by the time she came to be with me. She also just loved
being in a small cardboard box, and that's where she slept until I was
able to bluff the on-site landlord into thinking the cat didn't belong to me,
but that I was just taking care of her for somebody else. Well, she didn't,
and I was -- right?
It just killed me to think someone had just dumped her in the park, but
this is surely what happened: she was beaten down from homelessness
and it took me several weeks to bring her back to health. What a pretty
cat this once-pathetic animal became once I started feeding her and giving
her flea and medical treatment. From how she'd me watch from through the
glass door made it clear that one crucial thing was missing from both our lives.
I finally got the nerve to bring her inside and make her part of the family.
She loved to cuddle, pressing her head into my chin and cheeks. While I faced
some fiercely trying times during the last three years of her life, I discovered
that she instinctively knew what was taking place when her human companion,
overwhelmed with grief, burst into tears. Whenever I cried, Squirt would run
up to me, climb into my arms, press her head under my chin, and then rub her
cheeks against mine. She literally dried my tears! The toughest part about her
demise is that she's no longer around to bring the comforting that only a truly
special person knows to be part of her role in life.