I knew nothing about cats when I got Lucy nine years ago. And I mean nothing. Like how to transport them, for starters.
For Lucy’s first few trip to the vet, I carried her in my arms to the car, sat her in the passenger seat and off we went. We were hardly out of my driveway when I learned just how dangerous traveling with a cat can be.
And just try holding a cat with claws in your lap in a vet’s waiting room that’s full of dogs. All I have to say is, “Owwww!”
But I did somehow know that Lucy needed a collar, and fortunately I even knew to get her a breakaway collar. I say fortunately because I came home from work one day when I’d had Lucy for about a month. She was no where to be found, which was odd because she normally greeted me when I walked in the door.
I called her a few times. Nothing. Then I heard a faint meow coming from the kitchen. I listened closer. The sound seemed to be coming from behind my refrigerator. Sure enough, when I pulled the fridge away from the wall, Lucy came leaping out.
When I looked her over to make sure she was okay, I noticed her collar was missing. Then I looked at the back of the fridge. There, hung up on one of the grates half way down its length, was Lucy’s collar, the clasp open. She must have gotten hung up when she fell. Had I not gotten her that breakaway collar, there may have been no Lucy still welcoming me home all these years later.
—Justin Marks
