This little angel. We got her as a gift for our son on Christmas 2020. Knee-deep in the pandemic. We didn’t even know if we were going to have a Christmas that year. Honestly, I was frightened for the future at that point. I still am, but for completely different reasons.

Her name was Lyla, then Squeakers, then Skeekers then Keekers, and now…Keekoo. It’s a name that she can say. Literally. She’s incredibly vocal, and has a vast range of sounds. Why?

First of all, she’s a Bombay Black, and most of them chitter instead of meow. Like when they see a bird in the window. Keekoo’s story was tragic. She was rescued from some crappy human kid who was trying to choke her to death. Her meow-box was damaged. She was also feral.

Our older cat Zoe taught her everything, but she passed away this year. Since then, Keekoo has been all alone, living most of her life upstairs in the bathroom window, looking down on a strange, mad world. Sometimes, if I catch her off guard, I can pick her up without getting shredded, but it’s risky. She has some impressive razors on her paws and isn’t afraid to use them.

I found out a couple of years ago that I’ve been allergic to chicken, turkey, and eggs my entire life. Instead of believing that someone could be allergic to something so common, the sickness was normalized. Now, it’s been so long since I’ve purposely eaten either of those things, I get damn-near immobilized when I accidentally ingest them. Partial chicken strip in my Jack in the Box French Fries? Goodnight. Eating a piece of beef on the fajita plate that touched the chicken? Goodnight.

Now, I don’t mean it puts me to sleep, I mean it will cause me to cramp, vomit, etc. For at least a week, maybe more. Yesterday, I spent most of my day and all of my night in bed, curled up in a little ball, in pain. Several doctors from several locations misdiagnosed this allergy for years! It went all the way from heart attack, to severe anxiety, to “I’m literally full of crap.”

Yeah, med-school, but what’s the cause of it all? My wife figured this out by unknowingly keeping a simple food journal. Whenever I was in pain, or my blood pressure spiked, or I spent entirely too much time praying to the great porcelain god, she took note of what I’d eaten that day. Simple, right? Well, It should’ve been. We’re simply a number to most of these “professionals”. Decision-tree medicine in a time and place no one can afford.

Enough of that mess, though. I was dead to the world last night when this photo was taken and sent to me. She also got in bed with me last night and plopped down for the very first time in five years. She purred so loudly, it was vibrating me. I wonder if she meant to do that. The whole purring thing is rumored to be a healing process cats have, and perhaps she was trying to heal me. I’d like to think that’s what she was doing.

I often wonder what’s going through her unique mind whenever she stares off into space like this. My little panther, beneath the tree of wonders.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.

Love comes in many forms.