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When I was in my early teens, my mother and I began raising and showing Persian cats. It was something my mom had always wanted to do, and for the most part, that time is one of my most cherished memories. Having been a "cat person" since before my first recollection, I truly enjoyed it, and it gave my mom and me a chance to do something together that we both loved. There was one sad part, however; one of our mother cats died giving birth to her first litter. She had four kittens, but only two survived, and we were suddenly faced with the prospect of raising two newborn kittens. I was twelve years old, and I vividly remember taking turns with Mom for the midnight feedings and general care of the kittens, which entailed two-hour shifts around the clock. I still recall my wonder at their strength and will to live, even though they were so tiny and completely helpless. There were a few sticky situations resulting from our lack of experience, but the tiny orphans survived notwithstanding, and there were never more adored, spoiled kitties than our two "little girls", Tessa and Tish. They remained with us throughout their lives, and were inseparable, even in death; when Tessa died, Tish lingered only a few weeks before following. I was twelve when they were born; when they died, I was nearing my thirty-seventh birthday. They graced and enriched our lives for twenty-four years. To this day, I have a precious photo of them on our living room wall, among the parents, grandparents, siblings and relatives. After all, Tessa and Tish were a part of my family.

Some may remember the blog I wrote a few weeks ago, about a three-day-old abandoned kitten that I had rescued and taken home to raise. Well, I still have her, and she is thriving! Her name is Calypso, and she will be six weeks old this Saturday. It was my experience with Tessa and Tish that gave me the confidence to take on the responsibility of raising her nearly from birth. And I am so glad I did! Little Caly is now six weeks old, and absolutely adorable. She is black and white, and has big jade green eyes and white whiskers. She follows me all over the house now. She is very attached to me, since I've always been her "mom".

A friend of mine said that I have a good heart, and that is is a noble thing to have taken on a three-day-old kitten. But Calypso has done more for me, I think, than I have done for her. I suffer from clinical depression and PTSD, for which I take medication. Even so, there are days when I can bring myself to do nothing but lay on the sofa and stare blankly at the TV. The feeling that life is not worth the trouble and pain, that mine is a worthless existence, becomes overwhelming at times. But this little kitty changed that. After she came, I started getting out of bed before my husband, something that is rare. I began sleeping better at night, the midnight feedings notwithstanding. And now I have another reason to look forward to getting home at night. For five weeks, Caly travelled to my office with me every day, and spent the day in her kitty carrier in the shade on the back patio of our building; I checked on her every hour. I spent my lunch break with her, feeding and holding her. Now, she is eating on her own and is litter-box trained, so I don't bring her to work anymore, which is good since I never could have left her out in the recent heat. This week was her first week home alone. She is so joyfully glad to see me when I come home. Her tiny excited meows and her little paws trying to climb up my leg, her purr against my ear as she rubs her face on my neck, never cease to lift my spirits, regardless of what happened during the course of the day. I feel needed again, and appreciated.

I never thought that, in saving a tiny newborn kitten, I would be doing myself so much good. I like to think that my son somehow put her there for me to find that day, so close to the anniversary of his death, to comfort me and give me a sense of purpose again. It would be so like Jordan to do that. After all, he never wanted his mommy to be sad; he told me that all the time. He often picked flowers or drew pictures for me if I was downhearted about something. And a few months before his accident, Jordan traded one of his toys for a stuffed kitty, which he proudly presented to me when I got home from work one night. It is one of my treasures, and sits on the bookshelf next to the carved box that hold my son's ashes. It is black and white, and Calypso bears it a striking resemblance. But maybe that should come as no surprise.

If I am lucky, Caly will be with me for a long, happy life, like Tessa and Tish were. Regardless how long she lives, she will always have a safe, loving home with me. I could never give her up. After all, she saved me.