The Last Cat

Mr. Riley's favorite cat, Grandma

The first time I saw Mr. Riley (name has been changed) he was dragging an oxygen tank slowly, deliberately, as he walked the roads of our village stopping every few feet to catch his breath.  This frail, bone thin man smiled a toothless grin as he refused a ride home from me. I made it a point to find out where he lived.

I couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Riley and later that week I stopped by his home for a visit. The broken concrete back steps of his house were littered with all types of food in waxed cardboard trays--everything from peas to rice to some kind of unrecognizable meat (I think). He was an obvious recipient of a Meals on Wheels type of program.

Why was the food provided to him on the broken steps?  One look at him made it abundantly clear he needed that food.  I knocked on the door and when he answered he explained that the food was for the many stray cats in the village.  He couldn't afford to buy cat food so he shared the little bit of food he had with the hungry cats. 

Though I barely had enough money to feed my own rescue cats, I knew I had to find a way to help him feed his.  He accepted bags of food (reluctantly at first) but as he became more comfortable with me he was appreciative of any help I could give him, swallowing his pride to help his cats.

It wasn't long before Mr. Riley was calling me for help to get some of the cats he fed off the streets.  He worried about them and fretted they would be hit on the road or poisoned by cruel cat hating village residents.  Though they were feral cats, caring for them--even from afar--gave him purpose and a reason to get up each morning.  Talking about them put a smile on his worn face.

Mr. Riley had been widowed several years earlier and his beloved wife loved cats. His nickname for her was Kitty. When he invited me into his home, the walls were adorned with cat pictures.  I suspect he hadn't moved a thing in the house since his wife died as a way to keep his memories of her even more alive. He'd even made a pallet on the living room floor to sleep on, he couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed alone he'd shared with his wife.

Visiting Mr. Riley in his home was a double edged sword; it was truly an honor he bestowed on few people but he chain-smoked and used an oxygen tank full-time.  I was understandably uneasy to stay in his house long and each time he lit a match I silently prayed for our safety.  I love cats, don't get me wrong, I just wasn't sure I wanted to die because of them.

I heard through the village grapevine Mr. Riley had recently been diagnosed with Lung Cancer. He already had Emphysema and I wasn't sure how long he'd be able to live in his home alone.  I also knew he was very worried to leave his cats behind since he thought no one else would feed, care for or love them.

About 2 years after I met Mr. Riley I received a phone call from his son-in-law telling me he'd been taken by squad to the hospital.  Mr. Riley told his son-in-law to call me and ask me to feed his cats until he came home, which I gladly did.

The next phone call I got from the son-in-law was grave. Not only was Mr. Riley not coming home, he was also not long for this earth.  I was surprised at the lump in my throat and the uncontrollable tears that flowed when I heard the news. I realized in that moment that Mr. Riley and I were truly kindred spirits.  Though we couldn't have been more unlike each other, this frail man had a lion's heart and unwavering love and compassion for helpless creatures.  He was a rare unexpected find, indeed.

Mr. Riley also rekindled a hope I had unknowingly lost over the many years I've been rescuing--a hope that there were others who cared deeply about people and animals in need--a hope that kindness was not just a word but an everyday way of life.

As a rescuer you most often see the worst in people--abuse, neglect, hatred, cruelty--people who wouldn't give a starving animal a crumb of food if you paid them.  But once in a while you come across a Mr. Riley who would give hungry animals his own food--even his very last crumb. 

And I also learned from my time with Mr. Riley that rescue is not always just about helping the animals, it's about helping people too.  The commonality of love for animals builds a bridge to some closed off hearts otherwise impossible to reach. Many times these hearts and souls were hurt horribly by people so they find a home--a safe place--in loving, nurturing and caring for animals.

When I got the call Mr. Riley would not be coming home I prayed God would help me achieve one last thing for him.  I wanted to be able to call Mr. Riley and tell him I had gotten all his cats safely into my rescue--22 in all--before he passed away.

After 2 weeks of live trapping all times of the day and night I got every one of his cats into my rescue and I was thrilled to finally make the call to tell Mr. Riley all his cats were safe.  I hoped it wasn't too late.

Though he didn't have the breath to talk on the phone, Mr. Riley's son-in-law told him all his cats were off the streets. Mr. Riley mouthed the words,  "Did she get grandma" (his first and favorite cat).  She was the last cat I had caught--watching all the other cats enter the live trap--eluding capture until the very end. 

When he heard even grandma was safe his son-in-law told me Mr. Riley smiled bigger than he'd seen him smile for a very, very long time--the way he used to smile when Kitty was still with him. Then he sighed deeply, his frail frame relaxing.  His cats were safe in my care.  His work was done.  He could go peacefully.

Two weeks later Mr. Riley passed away and was finally reunited forever with his beloved wife Kitty.

Shepherdess Blog

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Jackie Deems