Thanks to his compassionate and loving "foster mommy' "A" who was with him until the end.  Nod was found passed away sleeping next to his little sibling, Blinkin, shown here with him.

Fellow animal, Betty Givens, passed away recently.  Mrs. Givens loved all wildlife and supported the mission of NJ Aid for Animals as well. 

NJAFA thanks the family of Mrs. Givens and Betty for remembering us in lieu of flowers.  The donations she remembered us with will be used  l00% for care of abused animals, spaying and neutering.

Our sympathy to her husband John and her family.  Rest in peace Betty.

My love always to this wonderful creature.  He loved his walks, he loved his treats and he was the best dog ever.  I don't know who was the luckier, he or his humans to have one another in this world. We, at NJAFA,  send our love to Mickey and to Jack and Gina. (Added 12/07)

Gracie, a little beagle, crossed over the Rainbow Bridge one year ago this month.

Almost a decade ago, the founder and president of NJAFA (which wasn't even formed at that time) saw this dog literally being given away on the street by the breeder who had been breeding and breeding her for pups.  He didn't want her anymore. Kathy gladly took the female beagle and found a loving home with Marilyn and Frank Jones in Ohio.   

Poor Gracie who had been living outside her whole life didn't know what a nice cozy house was.  Frank slept on the floor with her for almost a week until Gracie was comfortable living in a house.  These patient and kind people gave Gracie a home for almost a decade. (Added 12/07)

“CLEO”

 I remember when a lover and I parted. Memorializing my time with him helped to ease my pain and now twenty years later, when I read what poured out of my heart at that time, I think…”did that really happen”.  I don’t remember those details.

 Now, on the early morning the day after Cleo’s death as she lay curled in her own heated bed, stilled forever, I cannot sleep and hurry to write down everything I remember about her and our life together before those memories, too, fade like her last breath.  We always think they won’t but years from now when I look in her little box that will hold her ashes I will be assured that remembering the proclivities that made her so dear will not have to be forced to or faded from my mind.

 I have never felt that my animals (not pets) were particularly fond of me.  Ergo, I rather felt that were more like roommates if you will, that all just needed a place to hang out.  None of us really owing or owning one another.  We were vagabonds and misfits that didn’t have a place anywhere.  Like a little “commune” we all just ended up together, stragglers from society.  “Hey” I would say to the first ones here, “there’s another one of us out there in the alley eking out a life, should I bring it in to join us?” Or, “hey guys-I saw a little guy outside scrounging and no one wants him, should we take him in too?”

 We all tolerated one another.  We took whatever room we wanted at the time to sun or to sleep or to drink from a continuous steam of water from the bathtub.  My animals were never here to entertain me or to live up to any expectations put forth by myself or anyone who entered my abode. 

 Cleo was the “Grand Dame” of our merry band of gypsies.  Memories of her tumble together in my mind.  Cleo’s domicile in l993 was in a room full of cats at a humane society where she had been returned twice because she was too animated.  Translated: she was an intrepid little cat that had a mind of her own and most people just wanted docile.  Our love affair was soft and easy going but she was an instigator and many times I had to steer her back to the protocol of the house rules.

 She liked to sit atop the shower caddy and watch me as I showered. She liked to be stroked with wet hands after which time should groom the fur where water had been deposited. In fact, all three of the houses Cleo live in had a shower “stool” or ledge put up just for her to be close to the shower.

 Then, as I would bend over to brush my teeth at the sink or various other positions during my “toilette”, she liked to hop on my back. I would walk around the house in a sort of “Hunchback of Notre Dame” pose while she let me know where her next stop would be.  Most of the time her aim was to hitch a ride on my back to get to “higher ground” i.e., the top of a refrigerator or cupboard.

 Licking armpits was the most disconcerting habit she had but only to the men she did it to.  Although I found it amusing, the men in my life who would lay innocently with their arms up quickly found a little black face buried in their pits searching for what I still don’t know…. perhaps her mother.  The men would say “ugggg gross”.

 One night Cleo got out and the little girl next door helped me search for her.  A two year old’s interpretation of Cleo came out “Keyhole”.  With “Keyhole, Keyhole”, ringing out through the neighborhood, “Keyhole” was found and never got out again.

 Cleo had AIDS her entire life so she got to eat whatever she wanted.  Tuna was her favorite food. She didn’t like to be picked up but was the first response on company details on the “meet and greet” team walking on the table, counter or any other surface that would put her in close proximity to a stranger’s friendly hand.

I was quick to ask my guests and repair people who sat at my table while she glided in front of them with her tail swishing in their faces “you don’t mind cats do you?” Reluctantly, if someone said yes, she was relegated to the floor like a normal cat, but most people didn’t comment on how odd it was that my cat was on the kitchen counter or table.

 Cleo was fun to watch as she laid on her back and tried to catch a feather I teaser her with.  Her paws flayed about in the air and her mouth with no teeth tried to catch something that would always be elusive to her. Then I would make the feather go in a circle while Cleo would spin like a top trying to catch it and when she stopped she was like a child chasing a piñata.  She was dizzy and wobbly and I would laugh.  I didn’t think it was mean as long as she enjoyed it.

While I made the bed, Cleo’s favorite game was pouncing on sheets she surely thought were clouds.  As I snapped crisp bedding into place, linen landed forming a bubble, which Cleo was quick to catch.  Making the best was a daunting task when Cleo was around.  Many times, if she wouldn’t come out from under the first layer, I would make the bed over her and a tiny bump would remain under the sheets until she got bored and worked her way out of her linen prison.

 Cleo liked sitting on top of the chest of whomever happened to be in repose.  Stealthily she would climb atop her chosen target and sit very quietly until you made eye contract with her.  When you did, there was she was staring at you with yellow eyes as if to say “what took you so long”?  I have been staring you for hours”.  My new groom while sleeping would tolerate Cleo as she dug her claws into his chest, he would pull the covers higher, she would dig and he would pull.  This game always ended with covers completely over new groom’s head.  Good sport.

 Now, at this moment before her body succumbs to the physiological protocol of death, I pick her up and hold her. I run my hands through her fur and smell her kitty smell for the last time.

 Tap, tap, tap.  Wait.  My heart stops.  Is that Cleo click, click, clicking on my  hardwood floors?  No. It’s just the faucet dripping.  Four o’clock am and everything is surreal and magnified.

 Cleo died today.  She was my friend for thirteen years.  I took care of her and she took care of me. She made me smile and I am very sad.  The other cats will now be able to have a spot on the bed without being chased off. I am curious to see which of my remaining roommates will “lay claim” on her heated bed like the siblings of a college bound child declaring the best bedroom for themselves.

 All the animals are sad with me.  They too, will have me rushing to memorialize their lives with alacrity when their time comes.  For now, we are all missing Cleo.  Our friend and little girl.

 Hey, guess what? There is a very small black cat living outside that only gets fed bread and lives in the cold.  The old farmer doesn’t want it and he let me take it to get neutered. The little black cat has AIDS and an old injury to his leg.  It will surely die if I send it back to the farmer.  Maybe we should invite the little cat to live with us?  How odd that a little black gypsy should come to our group that also has AID.  I guess we will keep him.  Did Cleo open a spot so another could live? 

 May my little girl find clean crisp sheets to pounce on and ubiquitous feathers to play with that will take her into eternity until I can see her again.

May she rest in peace.