One afternoon I was monitoring the pages comin’ out of the photocopy machine, when in walks Jen, the cattery manager.  I stretches out my front paw and gives a yawn and sez, “What gives?” distracted like, which I was.  Distracted.  She reaches out with her pointin finger and hooks it under the claws of my extended paw an shakes it a little.  But she was not here to consult with me but only saying “Hey Bub.” And then I see that she is carrin’ a black and white kitten.  Right away I understand I am needed to assist with the temporary care of this little thing, foster like.

In the Animal Care office, Jen is looking concerned like she is worrying her whiskers and tellin’ Melissa “Little Cloe here is FIV positive.”

Me, I can explain this bein’ FIV⁺ my ownself.   FIV is feline immunodeficiency virus what gradually weakens an infected cat’s immune system. Mostly tough guys what has to fend for themselves out on the streets are the most frequent infected by fighting and biting. Knowing this, I am upside down with surprise that this little girl what couldn’t be hardly three months old has it.  But I hears Jen, say “an infected mother can pass it to her kittens, during birth.”

“Oh my, oh my,” I sez, looking real soft like at Cloe, “You got a tough deal there.  I feel for ya.”

“Save it for later,” she sez, then, “Waddya say you shows me the ropes, Uncle Sherm?”  And right away I knows together we can click; I has a sidekick.

What a time we was havin’.  Me showin’ Cloe around and Cloe absorbing it all like she was born to it. That little girl sure touched my heart.  But I gotta tell you, Cloe had besides FIV also FIP and prettty soon she started to decline rapid like.

When it happened that Cloe could not get out of bed one day, I sez, “Oh my, oh my,” looking at her real soft like. “Oh my, oh my, what?” she sez.  “You made everything different then it used ta in the old days,” I sez.  “Me, I am supposed to be showin’ you the ropes and instead you is showin’ me, I do not know what, but it is good.” And Cloe, she presses her head up under my chin and she don’t say anything but, “Uncle Sherm, I coulda been something.”  Me, I am thinking the same thing.

I do not know why, but some has to die young.  My little friend what playin with and showin around made me all happy and everything was one. There it is.  It ain’t always easy.

I knows all of us has got to be brave helpin’ out here at the shelter.  Me, ever since Cloe, I has had the hardest time keepin enthusiastic.  I can’t handle this in my head.  It rocks me.

(Editors note: After mourning the passing of his friend, Sherman eventually returned to his duties at the shelter with a renewed sense of purpose he attributes to “dedication to Cloe  in memory like.”)