Tiny Warrior

He's the lion in...July. The little being that taught me about survival & forgiveness. His name is Winston Churchill Chandler and he's my 8 1/2 year old very sick kitty. Typically, my rule is not to post anything too personal here, but this is an outlet for me to honor my little feline friend and share my feelings with my fellow animal lovers here.

Win was rescued from being wedged into a small drainpipe when he was still a tiny blue-eyed infant. He could barely hold his head up without trembling, but he certainly tore into the forearms of the animal control officer that pulled him to freedom. Winston's tail was broken in three places during the removal, and now it resembles a stubby, furry "Z". I took him home from the Humane Society to "foster" him, and Super D resisted this screaming little tabby & white fuzzball at first. So did our solid black cat Musashi, who at six months old was the prince of the household. I think Mushi would have actually killed Winston, he hated him so! And Super D was completely annoyed at the way Winston could climb from ankle to shoulder in 15 seconds. I was worried about the fate of this fosterling... But within only a few days, Win worked his magic. Not only did I find Musashi playing feather-ball massacre and sleeping with the new baby (when he didn't think I was looking), but one day I came home to discover Super D asleep on the sofa. With Winston curled up on his chest. That cinched the deal. Winston had a home.

Winston Churchill was the perfect name for this little warrior. Within days he convinced Musashi that HE was the alpha. Musashi gently relinquished his position to his new brother. My older cats, Ivan and Vinnie, remained aloof dignitaries, yet they respected his fire. This unique kitten gradually grew into a very intelligent and complex adult cat. When the pit bulls came along, I witnessed something amazing. Winston and Akira grew a respectful acknowledgement for one another, and often fought for rights to claim the feathery cat toys together. But Winston and Achilles...that's a different story. You see, Winston OWNS this powerful, block-headed 90 pound pit bull. Achilles is Winston's dog. Achilles will allow Win to rub against his legs at the risk of being popped in the snout at the slightest misstep. I have actually seen Achilles try to sneak past Winston so as not to provoke him.

The most amazing quality this cat possesses is forgiveness. No cat likes to be confined, poked or prodded for any reason (I guess that goes for us all!), and most cats will disappear quickly to pout after any uncomfortable incident. Not Win! After every rabies and annual vaccinations have been injected into him, he purrs. The times we have tried to cut his toenails (or should I say time - singular - for Super D and I were close to being bled out at the carotid by Winston's furious talons), Winnie hated us until we released him. But did he run? No! He rubbed against us, his little motor idling at high speed. Win has NEVER held a grudge. He still loves us, no matter what we have to do to him. Even now...

Win is in a fight for his life over the ravages of diabetes. This disease attacked his stout little body rapidly - the first signs of onset only 2 months ago. Winston's weight decreased from his healthy 13 pounds to a pitiful 8 pounds. He became disoriented, dehydrated and lethargic. And depressed. This was not my Winston. His treatment began immediately after the diagnosis. After administering daily shots of insulin, he is still a trooper, never showing signs of anger toward us. And yet, the treatment was failing him. I was brought to my knees when I found his near lifeless body curled into a little ball in our spare bedroom Sunday morning. Musashi's cries preceding my discovery didn't seem quite right. It was as if he was trying to say, "My brother's not well! He needs help!"

Winston had experienced severe diabetic shock, and his mouth and paws were covered with the blood he had vomited all over the floor and bedskirt. Not to worry, Win. I forgive you. His eyes were not right - not Winston's usual smug gaze. They were desperate and full of pain. Super D and I scooped Win up and rushed him to our wonderful vet, who has cared for him until today. Win was so close to leaving this world for the Rainbow Bridge...

He's home now, exhausted and battered from the many vein punctures where his blood has been drawn and I.V.'s inserted. His usually beautiful coat is greasy and dull from lack of grooming, so I have brushed him to help him maintain his dignity. It hurts my heart to see such a wonderful, scrappy little survivor fight the battle for his life. I don't know what to expect in the next few days, but my Winston is a courageous little lion, much like his namesake.

--Bagheera