Cat + Wings = Angel?

It all started when Daughter and I were browsing in a department store. She and I saw, at the same time, a figurine of a cat. It looked almost porcelain, but when picked up was pretty chunky. It was a white cat, it's face lifted up, as though feeling sun on its face. 

And it had wings.

We burst into tears.

You may ask why.

Well, that's what I'm here for, to tell the story.

For years we did not have a cat. I know that's hard to believe, but the reason was Sam. 

Sam was our Boxer and she hated cats. We purchased her when she was 18 months old, right after we moved into our house. We loved her, and I resigned myself to a catless life for a while.

Daughter came along, and all she knew were dogs. For by then, we had another Boxer, Buster.

Buster died when  Daughter was five. Sam died when Daughter was eight. 

The day after Sam died, one of the women I worked with called me and said, "I know you can't have cats, but do you know of anyone who might want one? I have this white cat..."

My mind froze. I could see the cat as if she'd shown me a picture. I knew that cat would look like my cat, Scooter, that I had owned many years ago. I had no doubt in my mind. I called Husband, he said yes, and the next day the cat was delivered to my office at closing. 

Her name was "White Sox". Why in the world someone would name a solid white cat that, I do not know. But I knew her real name: Angel.

She was smaller that  Scooter, by a lot. She never weighed more than ten pounds. But other than size, she looked very much like he did. We thought she was maybe half Maine Coon and maybe some Angora. She had long, silky white hair, and a presence about her that said royalty.

She'd been badly scarred by having to leave the only home she knew, an elderly woman dying of cancer. She'd been taken away and put in a garage with a tom cat, terrified.

Another family took her in, but they had a dog with puppies, and she cowered in the corner all the time.

It took her a while to cotton to us. 

Daughter was playing in her kiddie pool on the screened in porch when we brought the cat in. The cat was in a carrier, and Daughter at first thought we had brought home a rabbit.

Angel was truly a mesenger from God; a comfort for our grief over Sam's death.

She lived to be just over fourteen years old. Kidney failure, deafness, and seizures got her. But we loved her and she loved us.

So when we saw the angel cat statue, we were comforted again. Heartbroken, too.

Of course I purchased it. She sits up on top of the chifforobe, sweet face to the sky, a slight smile on her face.

Angel was a good cat; I miss her still.