A Cat named Beady
Norma Grubman’s story about Freddy is delightful and a pleasure to read. It reminds me of our cat, all gray – named Beady because someone remarked that her eyes were shiny and bright as beads. And so, at the tender age of six weeks, which is when she found us, Beady became a member of our family and lived with us for the next eighteen years. As time went by, she? he? it? (even the vet couldn’t be sure of its sex) acquired a middle name. She officially became Beady Pussy-Willow Friedman, because of her soft, gray coat.
Beady was a tiny fur ball who wandered up onto our front porch one day and, for three weeks, the children delighted in feeding her – outside, of course. By now, she was depending upon us for food. A dilemma arose when we started to plan our vacation. Should we stop feeding her so that she could learn how to fend for herself? Or, do we make the adoption official? Should we permit her to eat inside, get her a litter box and take her with us while we vacationed? You know what our decision was…
She jumped out of the car at a rest stop in Western Maryland, a signal for instant hysteria on the part of myself and the four children. What a sight we must have been! We took her to the vet upon returning home, and when the doctor told us that she needed a hernia operation – in fact, two of them as a matter of fact – we seriously gave thought to “losing” her at the side of the road. Our free bundle of joy was becoming expensive and more than we had bargained for. But does one get rid of a family member just because they are ill? Of course, that never happened and so, for the next eighteen years, she gave us only pleasure and we delighted in each other’s loyalty and affection.
Incidentally, her second trip to the vet took place the day that she died.
We sobbed bitterly as we wrapped her in a towel, placed her in a shoe box and buried her in our backyard.
– Hinde Friedman
Baltimore, Maryland. U.S.A.