My pal Steve posted this to Facebook:
I’ve been helping out at Bonner Animal Rescue recently, and I’m slowly getting to know its denizens on a level that is only achieved when you’ve thrown off all pretense, looked someone square in the eye, chucked them under their chin and scooped their poop into a plastic bag for disposal. Take this handsome devil—he’s gone by many names over the years, making use of a dozen passports and at leas…t as many types of currency. For now he is known as “Snickers,” an obvious reference to his unflappable air of self-satisfaction and inability to eat just one peanut. At a standing height of 12” and a frolicking height of 20.3”, Snickers cuts a diminutive figure. Don’t be fooled, though—this feline has lived life (several of them, in fact) to the full.
Just a moment in his presence reveals Snickers to be a born raconteur. His baritone voice is sultry and brassy—like drinking single malt scotch from a fine trombone—and each anecdote is a master class in ribaldry and wit. I sat in rapt attention as Snickers’ life story unspooled in a scattershot series of stolen encounters, grog house fights, belly scritches and high stakes games of blackjack. Impossible? “I’d be the first one to agree with you,” Snickers says. “But who am I to let the truth get in the way of a good story?”
As pleasant as his tales of magic and heroism can be, it’s telling that Snickers becomes playfully evasive when asked pointed questions about his past. For example, a simple request for his thoughts on love provoked the following response: “Love… love makes one do strange things, my friend. I have traveled to the ends of the earth for it… unrolled countless balls of string… spent a year as curator of the DJ Jazzy Jeff wing of the DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince Museum… …co-wrote James Brown’s immortal ‘For Goodness Sakes (Look at Those Cakes),’ even dueled my arch nemesis the great red dot to a thousand stalemates, all for the chance to rest my weary head on Love’s catnip-scented bosom… but then, that’s the life one chooses, isn’t it?”
He laughs heartily, but an unmistakable hint of sadness sneaks in as laugh becomes chuckle and finally trails off entirely. Snickers strikes a reflective pose for a moment, his gaze distant but nonetheless intent. Ever the multi-tasker, he uses this moment to take a dump before turning to me and saying, in low tones, “I loved once, you know. A love both torrid and tender… I couldn’t say how it ended any more than I could describe how it began. I only know it was beautiful… life-affirming… and over all too soon. If you find yourself with a love like that, hold on to it with all your being, because I’m here to tell you that it is a rare find indeed.” He pauses. “But then, I sometimes eat my own furballs, so obviously there’s no blueprint for this life or any other, is there?” With this, he throws his head back and laughs that beautiful baritone laugh of his. I tell you, that laugh is infectious.
The day grows short, and Snickers and I share a bowl of cognac before his nap; one of 27 he will take today. As I prepare to take my leave, he leans close, his tone conspiratorial. “My father tip-toed through life. While he was never hurt, he also never experienced what the world had to offer. At the end, he was laid so low by regret and arthritis he could barely lick his own butt. I vowed that this would never happen to me. Adventure comes a-calling every day, hermano. And I, for one, intend to be a gracious host.” He then sneezed in my face, signaling the end of our time together.
Thank you, Snickers, for teaching us that it’s okay to love again.