Bountiful Love

Petfinder.com

October 12, 2004

I'm in love with someone with matted hair and bad breath. I've forgiven him these failings, as he's forgiven me mine. It's all about unconditional love, a state of grace that I knew nothing about until he came into my life.

Percy, a.k.a. the Wonder Lump, is my cat. He's a yin and yang of color, all black and white, with eyes as big as saucers.

"Do you still have that fat cat?" asked an old friend.

"Yes, I still have him, but he's not fat. He's husky."

"Is he 'huskier' than the last time I saw him?"

Percy was bountiful, the kind of cat Reubens would have painted. But his girth made sense to me. Squeezing all that devotion into one feline form couldn't have been easy.

The old friend wouldn't let up. "He's a sumo wrestler in a cat suit," she said.

Suddenly it hit me why I like Percy better than this woman, better than a lot of people: He doesn't pass judgment.

Let's face it: our pets don't care if we're fat, if we snore, or if we wear white after Labor Day. They don't give a flip who we vote for, what car we drive.

We could learn some things from our pets...

They give us tail-thumping applause whether we were promoted or demoted on a given day, and they don't care what tax bracket we're in. Our religion and sexual preference are of no consequence to our pets. They don't care if we have fur on our backs, and it's fine with them if we steal cable, drink quarts of beer from bags or grow stinkweed on the lawn. Who else is so accepting?

Our pets will never file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. Percy made a commitment to me that first day when he climbed up the outside of my shirt and refused to let go. In all the ways that count, he's still hanging on.

Not long ago, on a vicious day when life took its teeth to me, I lay down, closed my eyes, and wished the world away. Then I felt the bulk of Percy, the Wonder Lump, heave onto my chest. Twenty pounds of affection brushed against my chin. Then Percy purred his bad breath into my face, roughed me up with his tongue, and set the whole world straight.

Jennifer L. Rechter is a freelance writer in Nashville, Tennessee.

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