Serendipity -The Art of Landing on one's Feet
| Music - Year of the Cat |
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When I first met Serendipity, she was about the size of a beanie baby, sound asleep
in the corner of the litter pan at some SPCA in South Texas. At that time, I had a
Colorado-bred tortishell who was not adapting well to life on Galveston Island. I
thought a companion might ease her pain – though it was probably my own
homesickness I was looking to cure. As I drove through the unfamiliar plains on my
way home from my hike through alligator country, I spied the shelter sign. As
chocolate calls to the stomach when one is on a diet, that shelter called to me that
warm Texas afternoon.
The first thing I noticed about Serendipity, other than her strange choice of places
for a kitten nap, was her beautiful coloring. She was also a tortishell – but she had
long fur with large patches of white. This combination was even better than the
genotype I was envisioning for my new family member.
I approached the counter and asked “What is wrong with that kitten in the litter
pan?” I was concerned, because she was only about half the size of her (less
gorgeous) littermates. A kind Southern voice from behind the counter was quick to
address my concern – “Oh there is nothing wrong with her – She just needs a bath”.
The shelter woman then whipped frail Serendipity out of her sound sleep in the sand
and into the back room. A couple minutes later, she remerged with a dripping wet
kitten, wrapped warmly in a towel.
At that moment in her life, Serendipity’s head was enormous in proportion to her
fragile body. Her ears where mammoth! Silently, I though to myself, “She looks
just like those cute, furry gremlins from that Spielberg movie.” Then the woman
with the compassionate southern drawl spoke words that struck my soul – “She looks
just like a gremlin after her bath, doesn’t she?” How did she know I was thinking
that?
So that was my sign from the Heavens that Serendipity was to come home with me
that warm Texas afternoon. I paid $50 dollars for her. That included a future spay
fee because at that moment, she was too feeble to undergo any procedures. The
woman also explained to me, after cupid’s arrow had struck my heart, that
Serendipity had completed two courses of antibiotics to put her back on the road to
health. I was less than reassured, knowing that Serendipity was the antithesis of
what any vet would tell you to look for when adopting a kitten.
It was about an hour from that SPCA back to the Island. Serendipity slept in her
box, waking only very occasionally to softly mew in protest to her cardboard
captivity. The whole drive home, the voice in the back of my head went on about how
she would die before we got home and how silly it was to spend $50 on this
particular kitten. When I opened the box, however, those two golden eyes looked up
and me and, once again, melted my soul like a chocolate bar on a hot Texas
afternoon.
My heart sunk once again a couple days later, when I figured out she could not eat
solids. So, already too smitten to do differently, I invested in a supply of kitten
formula. I was reassured when she lapped it down like a hungry billy-goat. This, by
no means, cured her – though her veracious appetite was a strength that would help
pull her through.
Within days, she developed a hacking kennel cough and was infested with mobs of
Gulf Coast fleas. Her eyes were filled with green goop and her whiskers all fell
out. She was the most pathetic little feline to ever enter my life. Though
hopelessly smitten, I knew the odds of her making it to adulthood were skinnier than
Serendipity herself.
Against these odds, my frail kitty just kept lapping down that formula until she
started to grow stronger. One day, she started to play with toys, like a real kitten.
The next thing I knew, she had grown into the most strikingly beautiful cat I had
ever owned. She even outranks the purebred orange Persians my family raised when
I was young. In addition to her physical splendor, she had also turned into a
colorful mass of playful fur, complete with Duracell batteries to keep her going all
night!
When we returned to Colorado about a year later, I took her to the vet for a check-
up and the spay we never got done in Texas. It was then I learned that she had been
thriving despite being home to three types of Southern intestinal parasite. After
another major investment in antibiotics – she fully-recuperated and has stayed fit-
as-a-feline to this very day – she is now 6 years old.
Sometimes folks will ask me where Serendipity got her name. It did not come from
the woman with the kind Southern accent at the SPCA – because I had picked
Serendipity’s name before I ever laid eyes on my scrawny kitten that day. The
name came from my mom – but by a rather indirect route.
Years before, I was visiting mom when she was very close to her own death. She
was asleep much of the time. However, one day she awoke with a start and hollered
the word “Serendipity”. At first, I wondered if something was wrong so I ran into
mom’s room with lightening speed. She sat smiling in bed and said it again. I was
only 25 at the time – and I had never heard the word before. I asked mom what it
meant and, becoming more lucid than she had in days, she replied “an unexpected
surprise.”
Mom died a couple weeks later. During the years that followed, I wondered why that
word had come into her mind at that point in her own life. I wondered if mom was
speaking about some insight she was gaining into the afterlife that day. I have long
since learned that the term also refers to a trait resilient people exhibit – an
ability to turn toxic situations into opportunity.
No matter which definition one picks for the word, my cat Serendipity is a living
reminder of the power mom’s words had on me that day. As I type this story, almost
three decades after loosing mama, Serendipity sits watching me from the shelf of
my computer desk. This resilient tortishell in her designer green collar continues
to teach me the meaning of her name on a daily basis. Thanks, mama, for this
unexpected surprise.
in the corner of the litter pan at some SPCA in South Texas. At that time, I had a
Colorado-bred tortishell who was not adapting well to life on Galveston Island. I
thought a companion might ease her pain – though it was probably my own
homesickness I was looking to cure. As I drove through the unfamiliar plains on my
way home from my hike through alligator country, I spied the shelter sign. As
chocolate calls to the stomach when one is on a diet, that shelter called to me that
warm Texas afternoon.
The first thing I noticed about Serendipity, other than her strange choice of places
for a kitten nap, was her beautiful coloring. She was also a tortishell – but she had
long fur with large patches of white. This combination was even better than the
genotype I was envisioning for my new family member.
I approached the counter and asked “What is wrong with that kitten in the litter
pan?” I was concerned, because she was only about half the size of her (less
gorgeous) littermates. A kind Southern voice from behind the counter was quick to
address my concern – “Oh there is nothing wrong with her – She just needs a bath”.
The shelter woman then whipped frail Serendipity out of her sound sleep in the sand
and into the back room. A couple minutes later, she remerged with a dripping wet
kitten, wrapped warmly in a towel.
At that moment in her life, Serendipity’s head was enormous in proportion to her
fragile body. Her ears where mammoth! Silently, I though to myself, “She looks
just like those cute, furry gremlins from that Spielberg movie.” Then the woman
with the compassionate southern drawl spoke words that struck my soul – “She looks
just like a gremlin after her bath, doesn’t she?” How did she know I was thinking
that?
So that was my sign from the Heavens that Serendipity was to come home with me
that warm Texas afternoon. I paid $50 dollars for her. That included a future spay
fee because at that moment, she was too feeble to undergo any procedures. The
woman also explained to me, after cupid’s arrow had struck my heart, that
Serendipity had completed two courses of antibiotics to put her back on the road to
health. I was less than reassured, knowing that Serendipity was the antithesis of
what any vet would tell you to look for when adopting a kitten.
It was about an hour from that SPCA back to the Island. Serendipity slept in her
box, waking only very occasionally to softly mew in protest to her cardboard
captivity. The whole drive home, the voice in the back of my head went on about how
she would die before we got home and how silly it was to spend $50 on this
particular kitten. When I opened the box, however, those two golden eyes looked up
and me and, once again, melted my soul like a chocolate bar on a hot Texas
afternoon.
My heart sunk once again a couple days later, when I figured out she could not eat
solids. So, already too smitten to do differently, I invested in a supply of kitten
formula. I was reassured when she lapped it down like a hungry billy-goat. This, by
no means, cured her – though her veracious appetite was a strength that would help
pull her through.
Within days, she developed a hacking kennel cough and was infested with mobs of
Gulf Coast fleas. Her eyes were filled with green goop and her whiskers all fell
out. She was the most pathetic little feline to ever enter my life. Though
hopelessly smitten, I knew the odds of her making it to adulthood were skinnier than
Serendipity herself.
Against these odds, my frail kitty just kept lapping down that formula until she
started to grow stronger. One day, she started to play with toys, like a real kitten.
The next thing I knew, she had grown into the most strikingly beautiful cat I had
ever owned. She even outranks the purebred orange Persians my family raised when
I was young. In addition to her physical splendor, she had also turned into a
colorful mass of playful fur, complete with Duracell batteries to keep her going all
night!
When we returned to Colorado about a year later, I took her to the vet for a check-
up and the spay we never got done in Texas. It was then I learned that she had been
thriving despite being home to three types of Southern intestinal parasite. After
another major investment in antibiotics – she fully-recuperated and has stayed fit-
as-a-feline to this very day – she is now 6 years old.
Sometimes folks will ask me where Serendipity got her name. It did not come from
the woman with the kind Southern accent at the SPCA – because I had picked
Serendipity’s name before I ever laid eyes on my scrawny kitten that day. The
name came from my mom – but by a rather indirect route.
Years before, I was visiting mom when she was very close to her own death. She
was asleep much of the time. However, one day she awoke with a start and hollered
the word “Serendipity”. At first, I wondered if something was wrong so I ran into
mom’s room with lightening speed. She sat smiling in bed and said it again. I was
only 25 at the time – and I had never heard the word before. I asked mom what it
meant and, becoming more lucid than she had in days, she replied “an unexpected
surprise.”
Mom died a couple weeks later. During the years that followed, I wondered why that
word had come into her mind at that point in her own life. I wondered if mom was
speaking about some insight she was gaining into the afterlife that day. I have long
since learned that the term also refers to a trait resilient people exhibit – an
ability to turn toxic situations into opportunity.
No matter which definition one picks for the word, my cat Serendipity is a living
reminder of the power mom’s words had on me that day. As I type this story, almost
three decades after loosing mama, Serendipity sits watching me from the shelf of
my computer desk. This resilient tortishell in her designer green collar continues
to teach me the meaning of her name on a daily basis. Thanks, mama, for this
unexpected surprise.
| Serendipity's Story |
