I am called Henri of Twin Brook, the cat formally known as Happy. Until September of
the year 1997, I prowled the streets and alleys of this town, foraging for food from the trash cans
of the city's residents. In my youth, I was adept at snaring within my paws, the hapless sparrow
or careless mouse. My jaws closed upon their sweet flesh as I ignored their pleas for mercy. I
had to eat. My life was about eating and sleeping and avoiding the perils of the streets.
In the spring, my pursuits and interests were more focused on the lovely queens and
damsels in the neighborhood. I fought other toms for their undying affections and attention. I
was strong! I was handsome! I was bigger and braver than any cat whose paws dared to tread
upon my territory! I was relentless in the pursuit of food, water, lady cats and a comfortable
place to sleep away the daylight hours. Night, with its shadows and strange noises was my
domain. I was a formidable presence on the streets! All cats respected me. Those who feared
me, and their numbers were many, stayed out of my way. Those who honored me and showed
respect, became my friends and together we traveled the paths of survival together.
What happens to a cat who has spent his life on the streets? We grow older. We grow
leaner. And sometimes we are afflicted with sickness and injury. Some of my friends, both male
and female died under the tires of a speeding automobiles. Some became ill and too weak to hunt
for food and water and wondered off to die in solitude. I grieved for all. Each life and spirit was
precious to me except of course for those tom cats who had beaten me up a few times......I had
not learned the art of forgiveness until that day in September when I, Henri of Twin Brook,
staggered along the streets, my fur wet and greasy, my stomach screaming for food, my eyes
bleary with fatigue, stood face to face with the humans who would become my persons. Why she
had stopped to pat my battle scared head and smooth my dirt encrusted coat, I shall never know.
She carried a bowl of food and put it at the edge of the sidewalk. They both watched and
spoke kind words to me as I devoured those delicious morsels, leaving not a crumb. I followed
them home that night. The wind was chill and the raindrops, although sparse, were cold against
my back. I followed them through the back gate and stood watching as they passed through the
door to their warm house. She returned later with a warm blanket and spread it on the table
underneath the roof of the deck. I fell asleep, wrapped in the soft folds of the blanket and
awakened the next morning, the warm rays of the sun brushing against my fur. A bowl of
succulent food had been placed near the blanket. I knew then, that I had found a home.