The Cats of My Life: Einstein

One year when I was in college my brother tried to get a job, and worked at a veterinarian’s office. I think he was just one of the animal caretakers there; we weren’t really talking that much then. I heard the stories though – that he was attacked by a pitbull and needed stitches in his neck, then a couple weeks later was bit by a cat that had one of those institutionalized bacteria’s and a black streak went up his arm and to his heart.

Out of this came a cat – Einstein. He was one of the donor cats and, as my brother’s story goes, “he was in a cage so small he couldn’t stand up straight and they were going to kill him because they couldn’t find any good veins anymore.”

Indeed, he walked with a stoop, a bit of the hunchback action going on, and kept his claws out at all times, like he thought he needed them for traction. When you pet him, you could feel the scabs across his wiry frame.

But he was so happy, always happy. That sweet thing loved human company and was in whatever lap could be found. He purred whenever anyone entered the room and was just so content with his life. I think he drooled too, I don’t remember. Somewhere in my life was a cat that drooled when he was happy. Wait, it was Einstein as he had few teeth left.

When my brother moved out he took Einstein with him, as it was his rescue. I remember asking about him later. My brother told me that he had a horrible death- that he just yowled and yowled as another cat attacked him and punctured his lung. I really don’t believe that story, by that time my brother was saying what he could to hurt me, and he knew I cared for our little rescue cat. I also don’t like to think of the smile he had when he told me this story, or that he would enjoy the poor cat’s pain as much as he enjoyed telling me about it.

Instead, I like to think that Einstein passed away quietly, after a couple years of peace and love outside his cage.