A CAT NAMED UGLY
2nd Cup of Coffee, 2-27-26: A CAT NAMED UGLY
Good morning, 2nd Cup friends. I most often write my own material; yet upon occasion an article or post crosses my desk that grabs me like one of those briars that grow in the American Southeast. What follows is one such.
I also usually wrap up such things with a few parting comments. Here, I'm putting them first...
This story is fictional; or is it? Could this be the original writer's personal experience, as close to his or her own spirit as the quick is to one's fingernail? Unknown.
Upon first reading this over twelve years ago, two impressions jostled for space in my heart: a) I've observed people being treated like Ugly; and b) There've been a few times in my life I've felt like him.
I won't prime the pump any more. (The way those old metal outdoor pumps worked was to get water in a coffee can or old pitcher, carry it out to the old pump, and pour some down it and begin the squarking, gasping sequence as the leather or rubber seal absorbed enough water to soak (leather) or coat (rubber) the seal enough for it to begin pulling water up into the bucket you hopefully remembered to bring out.)
You see, I won't need to prime it. By the time you've read this story, you'll be wiping tears from eyes and heart and spirit, as I've done every time I've reread it. You'll also be mentally listing the moral lessons therein. So...
A CAT NAMED UGLY
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 had long ago been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray striped tabby, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and 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 and the adults threw rocks at him. They 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. After all, a bath is a bath. 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 ever picked up, he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, pen, mustache, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s 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 battle-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.
(Yes; here's where you have permission to cry and weep a little. My emotions yank on my emergency brake right about here every time I reread this...)
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, 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 simply and honestly.
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. His open unfeigned seeking for compassion, for a friend, was clearer than many church sermons or Sunday lessons on love.
He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside. It was time for me to admit I didn't know as much about love offered or received like I thought I did. It was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give myself totally to those who'd cared for me, and who I cared for.
Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful. . . but for me, I will always try to be Ugly. Author Unknown *** Reader friends, I've included a 'Comments' section as a part of this blog. I purposefully have refrained from adding more of my own reactions/responses to this story. I'd rather hear yours. Look for the 'Comments' area and leave me your thoughts. Feedback is most often candy to a writer. By the way: I did not copyright this post so you may copy it and share it, too. ~ Dan
