Today I turn forty-three years old. Of those forty-three years, I’ve spent twenty-eight years with a vision disability. During those years, some assistive technology has come my way, especially in 2013 when I received a laptop with JAWS (Job Access With Speech) software to help read documents and online content to me; a scanner that allows me to scan material which then is read to me by my JAWS software; and then there’s my trusty cane, Gypsy.
But is there more out there to help me? I believe so.
Now you might think I’ve gone off my rocker, but what about a seeing-eye cat? Are eyebrows rising at this moment? Heads shaking? Do I hear laughter? Or maybe a few of you calling me a “darn fool, that’ll never work.”
Maybe it’s a pipe dream, but I was petting my cat Katrina the other day and the idea of her acting as my seeing-eye cat popped into my head. I stroked her back and then behind her ears and Katrina purred.
“Yes, you’d make a great walking companion,” I soothed.
Katrina, after licking her paw, regarded me for a second, then went back to bathing herself.
Off went my imagination.
A trip to Herrick District Library comes up. I need to return a few movies. I whistle for my trusty seeing-eye cat. In runs Katrina from the other room. She sits on her haunches and looks up at me. She licks her chops and then yawns.
“A special trip to the library, kitty,” I announce, reaching over to grab the harness.
Katrina lets out a squeaky meow and moves forward, allowing the harness to be placed around her middle. The straps are adjusted and tightened.
“Ready, girl?”
Katrina readies herself. I grab the strap in one hand and the movies in the other. I give the sign and Katrina moves forward toward the door. I reach out and open it. She moves through and I follow. The air is crisp and the sun shines on this afternoon.
At the end of the walk Katrina pauses and the harness goes slack in my hand. Katrina looks back at me. She stretches and arches her back.
“Come on, kitty, we have to go to the library,” I say.
Katrina remains stationary and I push past her. I give the harness a tug. When I look back, Katrina is rolling around on the sidewalk.
“Oh, you dirty cat,” I muse. “Come on. You’re getting filthy.”
After a gentle tug, producing a hiss from Katrina, she stands and saunters past me, her tail brushing against my jeans. The prodding helps and Katrina moves down the sidewalk, tail in air, tiny paws lightly patting at the sidewalk.
Katrina picks up speed and soon we are on our way. She leads on like the professional she was bred for, putting any seeing-eye dog to shame.
I look down at her and smile. She’s a faithful seeing-eye cat. Always on the lookout for me, making sure I’m safe.
I think of what my friend Mark Birdsall once said about Katrina. “She’s a vicious attack cat,” he once commented. I scoffed at that and still do today. She was just protecting the house.
We cross the street with no hassle and end up on the next neighborhood block. We’d gone on more than a few feet when Katrina tugged at the harness. Her body went into convulsions and she hissed. My arm shot out. Luckily she only weighs ten pounds.
“Trina! Trina!” I called.
Katrina settled but not before giving me a stare of indignation. From nearby I heard scampering up a tree. A squirrel.
“Come on, we’re on a mission, kitty,” I said.
With some reluctance Katrina moved on. Slow this time. It was deliberate.
“Silly cat,” I said. “Come on. The library closes at five.”
This new information made no difference. Katrina carried on like a cat without a care in the world. She, after all, was in no hurry. It was me that needed to get to the library.
Another squirrel caught Katrina’s attention and once more she tried pulling away. The tree was a few feet away and Katrina made it to the foot of the trunk before the squirrel scampered up the trunk and out of reach.
I glanced down at my cat and shook my head. She had a mean streak. Or maybe it was animal instinct. I recalled the time I stepped on her tail and she ran out of the room only to sail back in and attack my leg, biting it, and causing an infection. Then there was that time I ushered her away from a stool and after I sat down, she came back and nipped at my butt.
I reached down and picked up my seeing-eye cat. She squirmed in my hand, trying to jump off. I held tight.
“Oh, kitty. Let’s go back home,” I said, turning around. I walked back, Katrina in hand. I come out of my wonderful reverie. Katrina is looking up at me, eyes blinking in that sweet way of hers.
“One day…one day it’ll happen,” I said.
Katrina just slurped up saliva and continued to groom herself. A “whatever” gesture if I ever saw one.
- Roel -
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