My Constant Companion

On my 70th birthday my son took me to the animal shelter in Albuquerque to adopt a cat.  I thought I should settle down and stop traveling.  I wanted a warm little individual to keep me company. 

David warned me not to get a kitten.  “They are too frisky for an old woman like you.”  This big white cat stood up in his cage with his paws clinging to the bars.  His face said, “Please, please take me.”  Charlie adopted me. 

I can only guess what happened to him before he was picked up by Animal Control.  He was a beautiful cat, pure white with an abundance of long hair.  He had been someone’s pet.  He had been neutered. 

He also had been a stray in the desert of Albuquerque’s West Mesa until he was in bad shape, dehydrated, half-starved, his hair all matted and clumped.  At my house he refused to eat canned cat food; he only ate dry cat food.  He only drank water from a running faucet.  I was amazed at how he jumped from the bathroom floor up onto the counter beside the sink, like me trying to jump from the flower bed onto the porch roof. 

The shelter gave him to me for $5.  I took him to the vet.  It cost $100 to get him examined and cleaned up.
He wore a tag which said he was six years old.  The vet said, “If he is six years old, he certainly has taken good care of his teeth.  I think he is one or two years old.”

I called my white cat Charlie after my friend Charles White.  He proved to be the perfect companion, although I was alarmed at how active he was, like a teenager, jumping up on the 5-foot block wall around the backyard, chasing other cats as if he did not know he was no longer a tomcat.  Independent, like me.  He would not take orders, but in many ways he showed his affection.

As I rested in my recliner, Charlie climbed on top of me.  First he stood on my chest and looked in my face as if asking, “How are you feeling today?”  Then he would settle down on my lap, legs hanging off on both sides.  Sometimes we watched tv together, but if he was bored with the program, he would put his head down and stare at my chair as if lost in thought.   

Charlie was terrified of men.  My next door neighbor in Albuquerque was LeRoy Martinez, a big, burly man who was like a son to me.  He came every week to carry out my garbage.  As soon as Charlie saw him at the door, the cat ran and hid under the bed.  It took ten years before Charlie trusted the big man and let LeRoy pet him. 

My grandchildren came to visit.  The whole time they were here, Charlie lay on the floor near them and watched them play.  Any time my housekeeper brought her children, Charlie went right to them.

The doctor said my kidneys were failing.  Having no family in New Mexico, I moved to Texas to be near my brother.   


I now live in a retirement home.  In the early morning, while I am getting dressed, Charlie goes out on the walkway to check on the weather.  Then he stands at the door looking up at the door knob until James McMullen comes by and lets him in.  This week we all laughed when Charlie did not wait but went down to the door of James and Marilyn’s apartment and meowed until they opened the door.  Then the cat ran back to our apartment and insisted it was time for James to open our door for him.

I am now 84 years old.  Charlie has been my companion for 14 years.  We are both old.  He drinks water out of a bowl, although insisting I fill it with fresh water each time he asks for a drink.  He gets shots for arthritis in his hips.  I go to dialysis three times a week. .

Last week Charlie was lying in the sun on the walkway when James walked by with his great-grandson.  Charlie did not get up to say “Hello” to the child.  We knew that the cat was sick. 
My brother Don came, and we took Charlie to the vet.

Charlie has kidney failure.  When I told the techs at dialysis, they laughed.  “Maybe he caught it from you.”   We can’t give Charlie dialysis. 

There is no cure for kidney disease.  I creep around like an old woman; Charlie creeps around like an old man.  We both keep moving, if ever so slowly.  That’s all we can do – and laugh about the old woman and her cat, both with failing kidneys.  Life is ridiculous.   It is good to find something to laugh about.