Ugly...a Tale

This story is all over the internet and you may have read it.  I am posting it because, whether it's a true story or not, I think it's a beautiful, sad, but beautiful story. 

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat.

Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly.
To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long since been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs.
Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!!”
All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave.
Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbors huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.
Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I thought.
Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear - Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.
At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.
Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.

Bobby Sox

Cats. I grew up in a dogs-only house. Then I had a son who lost his great grandfather.

Grandpa was Jonathan's best friend. They played checkers together. They sat in the patio swing together. They were 2 yings or 2 yangs and they weren't looking for their compatible other halves. They were just fine together on the bedroom floor playing with building blocks my great grandfather had cut and sanded for Grandpa when he was a boy Jonathan's age.

Then Grandpa developed Alzheimers-senility-old age. At 93 it was bound to happen sometime, right? Most days he didn't remember most of us. He did always think my mom was Maxie, his wife, which was sweet that he remembered her, even if he didn't pick the right person as Maxie. It was probably because my mom took care of him like Maxie always had. Grandpa was able to build or fix anything well onto age 90, but was clueless if it was 11:01 am (dinnertime) or 4:01 pm (suppertime) and Maxie (or mom) had not set food on the table. We may never eat again if food did not appear on the table at those times, I really think he believed. He was from an earlier era that had those expectations of habit and conformation.

While he forgot most things and most people, he ALWAYS knew Jonathan on sight immediately.

Then in 2001 we lost Grandpa. Jonathan was in fourth grade. I was lucky that a friend of mine from high school, Julia Kapos, was his teacher. She gave him the time he needed to deal with everything.

During this time Jonathan and I were on our own and we had moved into an apartment. One night during a storm we came home to a scared, wet, pitiful young cat cowering in our doorway. Now, I knew nothing about cats. By nothing I mean n o t h i n g. However, after looking at him and then looking at my son's face, I let the cat in and we put her in my son's bathroom. She was good all night, so the next morning I left her in my son's room as we left for school. That evening I came home expecting the chair, bedding and curtains to be shredded, but instead found the cat stretched out on Jon's bed. So, she became our Bobbie Sox...

That is, until we took her to the vet. It was then I learned that male kitty parts are "retractable" and do not show. For a dog person, that info is still weird to me. Needless to say by the end of the vet visit Bobbie Sox was Bobby Sox.

The name came from his little white paws. He looked like he was wearing Bobby socks. Jonathan thought he looked like a bobcat - I think that was his thought in order to sound more macho.

Jon was also convinced that Bobby Sox was sent by his Grandpa because Bobbo liked to curl up in Grandpa's chair that Jonathan had "inherited." (Inherited here means refused to allow us to donate it to Goodwill, would not let anyone else have or use it and insisted that it was now his as it was a guy's chair.)

That cat was instantly Jonathan's best friend. They existed together in Jon's room, two kindred souls that didn't have to talk, just knew what each was thinking and what each needed.

So, an abandoned cat, "sent" by my Grandpa, turned me into a cat-person because he healed my son's heart. Now, we are dog and cat people.