Roland
As I jump-start each day with my usual herbal tea and antacid cocktail, Roland appears to transform the mundane into the wonderful. He bounces into the kitchen, wildly chasing whatever toy has managed to awaken his inner beast of prey at that particular moment, rousing him from his 'first nap after waking', which always takes place in the center of the bed I have so recently - and reluctantly - vacated.
Roland is more than ‘just a cat’. He embodies all that is innocent, optimistic and fun in the universe. Proud slayer of toy mice and foil balls, he relentlessly patrols his territory, vanquishing evil dust bunnies and flushing out stray sneakers with unabashed glee. Upon returning from his duties in the far reaches of the house, he flings himself into my lap, finding my neck with his wet nose as he purrs a greeting and demands the adulation due any conquering hero at the completion of his quest.
Sometimes when I look at Roland, in joyous pursuit of his toys or blissfully stretched in slumber upon my bed, I realize how narrow the margin is that divides a life fulfilled from a life denied. If the nameless Good Samaritan who discovered him had not heard his hungry cries he would have died of starvation or exposure in a field or roadside ditch. If he hadn't yelled so vigorously for food and attention once at the shelter he would have been euthanized for being too young and sick to be worth saving.
His stars - and mine - were aligned properly that day, I think. He was rescued and brought to the shelter, and I happened to walk past his cage before they got around to euthanizing him. Where everybody else saw a hopeless case, I saw a kitten who desperately wanted to live. When I left that day, he rode home in my pocket, still yelling for some dinner.
His first night at home, he hoovered his food, used his litter pan, then curled up in his bed with Bunny. Ancient and wise, Bunny has comforted the kitten guests in my household for many long and patient years. When I checked on Roland a couple of hours later he was sleeping blissfully, head resting on Bunny’s outstretched arm, his little kitten paws resting on Bunny’s chest. I’m pretty sure that was the moment I fell completely and irrevocably in love with him. Up until then, he’d just been the latest rescue, more a burden than a joy, something I felt compelled to do that would inevitably prove to be more labor than reward.
Seeing him there, sleeping as only a baby can sleep, I was overcome by a rush of love as intense as it was unexpected. Looking at his tiny, perfect paw - scarcely bigger than my smallest fingernail - resting so trustfully on Bunny’s threadbare chest, I knew that this wasn’t just another rescue. Roland was special.
Outwardly, Roland has changed a great deal since that day. His once-patchy baby fuzz, ravaged by fleas and showing as much skin as hair, is gone, replaced by a soft and sleek pelt of shining black. When he rolls over, the better to apply his long hind legs and sharp claws to the task of showing his misbehaving catnip toys who is in charge, the white on his chest and belly is visible. Two triangular patches, joined by a narrow white stripe, give the impression that some fanciful soul has drawn an hourglass on his underside.
His purr mechanism remains intact, as does his sunny outlook on the world and his capacity for affection. When I wake up smiling, Roland’s antics transform my smile into joyous laughter. When my mood is pensive, he has but to gift me with his latest trophy of a jingle ball or captured refrigerator magnet to tug the corners of my mouth into an upward curve. Roland's joy in being alive is invariably contagious.
His presence in my home and my life never fails to remind me that following my heart instead of my head is often the wiser choice. Looking at him, I realize that the smallest act of kindness can become its own reward. For me, Roland is a living symbol of the power of love in an often cruel and indifferent world.
