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Bella-Quisha showed up on our doorstep one day, and our family immediately fell in love with her. She was a beautifully marked Tabby with the distinguishing markings that race of cats always have: stripes from head to tail.

Everybody had a different name for her. My wife called her “Bella”, which means “beautiful” in Spanish (though my wife is not Spanish), and my daughter called her “Quisha”, which as far as I know, has no meaning at all. Nobody could agree on what her name should be, so we just gave her both names, hyphenated.

Her “meows” had a plaintive quality to them, so I named her “Poor Baby”. Every time she cried I automatically said the words “poor baby”, and I think she eventually came to the conclusion that “poor baby” was indeed her name.

Now, I’ve had at least one cat with me since I was four years old – around 57 years ago. In short, I have had a lot of cats, and I’ve become accustomed to the “personality” of cat, which varies from cat to cat but not as much as does the personality of dogs.

There was something, however, that was very different about Bella – some quality that one could only be defined as “wisdom”. Bella seemed to have some sort of basic understanding or “insight”. When you looked into her eyes, you could see that unlike most cats, she was looking back.

She seemed to know, and understand, who you were and what you were about.

I took her to our family veterinarian for her shots and made a comment on this unusual quality I perceived in her

“Of course she’s different,” Dr. Martin said. “Look at her forehead.”

What’s the point in that? I thought. I’d been looking at her forehead for quite some time and had seen nothing particularly unusual. But I went ahead and took another look.

“What do you see?” Dr. Martin said.

“Stripes. She’s got a lot of striped markings across her forehead, like all Tabbies.” I still couldn’t see anything unusual about her.

“Look again. The stripes are in the shape of an ‘M’.”

I took a closer look, and suddenly it jumped out at me. The pattern on her forehead was indeed in the shape of an ‘M’!

“She is a descendant of the cats who were in the stable the night the Christ Child was born. They were witnesses to that event, and for that reason they were given greater enlightenment that other cats. They bear the mark of His Mother. She put it on their foreheads, and they’ve born it ever since.

“They are the cats who saw Mary.”

An ‘M’, I thought. It was displayed very clearly. An ‘M’ for Mary.

I took Bella home, thinking that that was one of the strangest experiences I’d ever had. I’m not a Catholic, and I’d always had a basic instinctual aversion for such things. But I couldn’t help but think there was definitely something to what the doctor had said.

The cat was different; there was no question about it. And, she had a very clearly defined mark.

I lost my job. In the days and weeks that followed the stress of being out of work and my wife’s grieving over our “empty nest” wasn’t easy to cope with. Through all this trouble, however, Bella comforted us in some basic way. Bella seemed to know our grief, and she was there for both of us – with a definite, though indefinable, comfort.

After awhile, though, I noticed that she seemed to be gaining too much weight. She was crying more than usual, especially when I picked her up, and I quit responding to her cries with the words, “Poor baby” because they came so frequently.

She seemed to be in some sort of pain.

Finally I took her to the vet for her booster shots, and while waiting for my appointment, bragged to a lady on the other side of the waiting room about Bella, telling her how smart she was and what insight she seemed to have.

Then I was called into the examination room.

“Oh, you have a dead cat here,” Dr. Martin said.

“What do you mean?”

“She has a tumor; it won’t be long before it takes her.”

I was shocked beyond words. My pride and elation suddenly vanished, and I felt as if I’d been dropped into a pit.

“Isn’t there… Isn’t there something you can do?” I stammered.

“No, it’s too advanced. I can’t operate without killing her. She is in a lot of pain, and to be kind you should put her out of her misery.”

I was forced to leave her there to be euthanized. There was nothing else I could do. I gave the lady in the waiting room a miserable look as I left empty handed, my wonderful kitty suddenly gone. When I told my wife, her legs went out from under her and she sank to the floor, her eyes closed.

We had lost our comfort. Anger flooded me, but when I finally got over it, I asked the question, “Why did she have to die? She was such a comfort to us, and we loved her!”

And I did get an answer, “Because Mary wanted her.”

It took awhile, but I finally came to an agreement with that. God had given Bella to us, and if Mary wanted her back, she was in good hands.

# posted by Medical Information : 2:53 AM