Daisy, the perfect cat. She soon ruled the roost at that vet clinic. She slept on a chair by the front door and stirred for no one. Not even the large Labrador or Great Danes that barked in her face loud enough to bring the roof down. Many people thought she was stuffed. Daisy knew she had it good. Everyone loved Daisy. Everyone asked about Daisy if she had walked to the back – the food was stored in the back and every now and then she would find a critter trying to enjoy the food. Daisy took care of those critters. She never forgot her roots.

One day Diva Daisy decided that the food she was given each day was not enough. Each morning as we began the clinic’s morning routine of walking the dogs, cleaning the kennels, and feeding the animals we would notice that a new (retail) bag of food had been opened. Yes, a new one each day. We discovered Daisy in the act one morning. Daisy had to go. But where? was the question. She had to stay “in the family.”
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Daisy, not wanting anything to do with those (disgusting) kittens that seemed to want everything to do with her, said the Others had to go. Little Buddy had not even gained the strength to jump well and The Skipper only wanted a little love. Daisy made it clear to them that she did not want them there in her barn. She hissed at them any and every chance she got. If Daisy walked into the room where the kittens were, she hissed and they purred. She never showed her claws or bit them. She only spoke rudely and in great discussed. As cats do, Daisy would wash her face – lick the paw, wash the face, lick the paw, wash the face, et cetera. Now, Little Buddy and The Skipper decided that what Daisy did was rather interesting and they began to copy her, only from at least two or three feet away. She would look at them out of the corner of her eye, turn away and continue the grooming process. This went on for many days. Until one day…

…she got caught in the act – one of her paws was on Skipper, holding him down as he cried and screamed incessantly and the fearful noises called me to hide behind the door and watch. What did I see?

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In a rather serious tone and with tears being held back, “Mama. . . if a man goes blind his family doesn’t send him away. . . First, we have to leave our church, then we lose our friends, and Casey has to go away and now Daisy is gonna die! (Insert over-exaggerated foot stomp here.) If I get sick where do I have to go?”

Thoughts: “Oh, my God! please help me say the right thing. God, you care about the sparrow give me words to help this child. Now!”

“First of all – we would never send you away. Never. Any of you. And you’re right about everything else that has happened and I know it’s hard, Baby, but if Daisy can’t learn how to find her food, water, and litter box she won’t be able to survive. She has to be able to eat and she can’t live without eating and drinking. When we move to a new house she will have a very hard time finding her way around. If she ever gets outside accidentally she will surely get hit by a car or beat up by another car or dog and would never be able to find her way home.” Am I saying too much? Am I scaring her? Does she understand?

“But, Mama, we just saw that man at McDonald’s in the new town learning how to take care of himself and he said he went to school to learn what to do. Can’t we send Daisy to school?”

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A week came and went while we watched sweet Daisy get more and more comfortable with her blindness. There were a few days, one or two, she seemed a little confused with all the boxes packed for the move. I kept her typical pathway as free from clutter as possible, but as she became more comfortable with her loss of sight she began expanding her comfort zone a little more every few hours. She didn’t keep to our room anymore even venturing to jump on a few boxes for a nap. She actually found the box with a blanket on top of it and defended it once or twice from Little Buddy. I even began to wonder if she was just extremely near sighted. I checked and she had no reflex in her eyelids when I flicked my fingers in front of them and her pupil not longer responded to any light.

But Daisy was happy and so we tried to be also for her too. Amazingly enough she even tolerated the other female cat in the house she never liked before, Suzy. Daisy actually let Suzy clean her face for her a few times. Remarkable. The following weekend hubby and three children went off to the new town, I stayed home with the baby and one who had a sleepover planned with a friend, at the friend’s house. The plan: to get things cleaned and packed. Well, I got a lot done, but the dust sent my asthma into overdrive and my allergies went bizerk as well. I spent some time cleaning in my sewing area while the baby napped.

After I mopped the floor I noticed some small droplets of blood on my kitchen floor in a path from my bedroom door to the den door. I began to wonder if a cat had stepped on a pin in the carpet and pricked it’s pad. I began checking the cats, one by one. First Buddy – he was closest to me. Although asleep, he’s the one in the den the most. Nope, all feet are fine. Now for Suzy, she doesn’t like to be picked up so I had to coax her a little to let me look at her feet. It’s not Suzy. Skipper. Skipper? Where are you? It must be Skipper, he hides when he’s made or hurt or scared or . . .
nope, not Skipper. Oh no. Where’s Daisy? Daisy. Daisy? She comes running in her own sweet “where are you” way. Phew! Her feet are fine. Oh, well. I guess it’s no big deal.

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