Louis A. Camuti, a veterinarian, once made clear the most palpable of fur person truths: “With dogs and people, it’s love in big splashy colors. When you’re involved with a cat, you’re dealing in pastels.”

The relationship between people and cats tends toward the subtle end of the spectrum.  Unlike canines who demonstrate in bold moves, felines enjoy a more casual approach.

So I ask: Can you recognize it?  Are your eyes capable of differentiating Vazra’s adaptation to owning a human like me?

In but a year he has integrated himself into life with the rest of us.  As a point of fact, he has become so attached to me that he now follows me about the house and talks to me incessantly, engaging me in conversation and speaking to me in his native tongue with absolute certainty that I will understand him.  And I do.

Each of The Kids has a distinct voice, one recognized immediately and comprehended with sureness.  When one of them speaks, I hear and I know.  I know what they’re saying, what they’re feeling, what they’re thinking.

And now so too with Vazra.  He’s trained me well.

The love and affection I feel for him has deepened tremendously since his rescue.  I see the same in his feelings for me.

So again I ask: Can you recognize it?  Can you see the feeling of safety, the confidence in his own well-being while in my presence, the comfort of knowing he loves and is loved?

[Vazra]

Never let it be said that a cat can be caught unawares.  Deep in sleep, his body a rag-doll pile of fur and his breathing deep with dreams, I knelt down and tried to capture a photo of Vazra as he slept.

At no time did I have the element of surprise on my side.  The moment I set the camera on the floor, one of his eyes opened and watched me carefully through half-shut lids.

How marvelously exquisite these past twelve months have been.  Only last August did I rescue Vazra from a life at the lake, an existence of much aloneness and questioning whence the next meal would come, a day-to-day struggle with worsening teeth that prevented him from avoiding the horrific knots that once tore his coat from the skin, and that threatened to leave him unable to eat and drink lest action be taken.

And act I did.

Lo, these twelve months later I stand in awe at how rapidly time has flown.  Just today he returned to the vet for his first annual exam and vaccinations, at least his first while being a member of The Kids, a newly adopted sibling in a loving family and safe home.

It’s amazing to think a year truly has passed.  I find it difficult to believe only insomuch as it seems just a short while ago that he finally stepped into the cat carrier on the patio.

After a splendid report from the doctor, and after seeing him be a most agreeable patient, I spoke briefly with the DVM regarding his progress and status.

You might remember last October when I pointed out his tendency to lean his head to the left.  As all good doctors should be, the vet this morning observed this almost immediately and raised some concerns.  She asked about his balance and agility, after which she performed a few tests and additional observations to see if it meant anything worth additional poking and prodding.  Needless to say, she was pleased to announce it doesn’t appear to indicate anything out of the ordinary—or, rather, at least right now it doesn’t.  She queried me on this habit and eventually felt it worth nothing more than monitoring.

Otherwise, she had nothing but good things to say about him.  He has gained almost a full pound (half a kilogram) of weight, his fur is luxuriant and free of the painful and numerous tangles that once vexed him, his teeth look quite healthy (well, those he has left anyway), and his overall health could be defined as purrfect perfect.

I felt a hint of gleaming pride at the kudos she lavished upon me for the remarkable improvement evidenced by his exam.  In fact, despite their initial guess that he was more than ten years old, she made it quite clear he now acts years younger, and his appearance lends generously to the deception that he is a much younger cat.  Were it not for the truth seen in his teeth, they might now approximate his age to be something totally different.

She even reminded me that he likely would have starved by now, if not died of dehydration, had he been left to his own devices with the crippling dental disease he had when I rescued him.  We all enjoy kudos, and most accept them hungrily even when undeserved, yet I stood in that office feeling a comfortable level of pride and accomplishment that I saved his life, that I gave him the chance to live in luxury and security for whatever time he has left, and that I did so in the nick of time without realizing it back then.

As for his dental health now, that again was another positive report indicating no problems.

And so we returned home with the constant meowing which had filled the entire trip, him growing tired from the stress and excitement, and me beaming with joy at the dichotomy of the cat that was and the cat that now is.