RIVER CITY JOURNAL: A GOOD CAT IS HARD TO FIND, BUT I'LL BET WE CAN DO IT

It just so happens I have a good cat, and she needs a good home. If you're a good person, please call me. And please hurry.

I'm not going to make any bones about it. What you are about to read is an unabashed effort to find a good home for a nice cat.

For some of you, "nice cat" may be in the same league as "easy to assemble" and "cute fixer-upper." I know. I've been there too.

But the fact is our cat must move to a new home.

Allergies.

Doctor's orders.

No weaseling out of it like I've managed to do for the last 32 years.

It all started with Blackie.

(Get ready. I'm going to try to appeal to your soft, sentimental side first.)

You remember Blackie. Well, maybe not since he departed this world three years ago. But he didn't leave until he had spent 19 fantastic years raising our two sons and keeping a couple of parents in line along the way.

Cats don't live that long very often. As you can imagine, any animal that is a part of your family for 19 years is more than another cat. Our sons can't remember before Blackie.

Fortunately, they were both grown and away from home when Blackie finally had to go. They will never know all the details of that blackest of days when my wife held the cat in her arms while the vet euthanized him. I watched. I still get sad thinking about it.

OK. Here's hoping you're reading the rest of this through teary eyes.

When we moved to Cape Girardeau, we decided there would be no more cats. The allergist had already warned my wife about the health perils. But, in a moment of weakness, she said sure, go ahead, get another cat. So I did.

It's a tortoise-shell mama cat who was spayed after her first litter. She's an elegant cat who is as affectionate as a puppy. She even licks like a puppy. She loves to be around people. She's not at all aloof like some cats I know.

The cat, which has no name because nothing fits, is part sheepdog, I'm convinced. She likes to keep her humans together. If my wife and I go to separate rooms, the cat tries to round us up, preferably sitting down and providing a choice of laps.

The cat is tidy. She should be. She is the proud user of a computerized litter box. I'm not kidding. The ad said it was guaranteed to eliminate cat-box odor forever. So far, it works. How many cats do you know with a computerized litter box?

Oh. Did I mention the fancy litter box goes with the cat?

And let me tell you about her eating habits. When we first got her, the cat ate the expensive dry food suggested by the vet. That's all she would eat. The cat, I mean. I don't know what the vet eats.

Unfortunately, the cat ate lots of the expensive food. She got very fat.

At the next visit to the vet, the doctor said, "Your cat is too fat. We will put her on a high-fiber diet."

So now the cat will only eat her high-fiber dry food. She has lost weight. The vet is happy. The cat is happy. The computerized litter box is happy.

My wife's doctor, however, is not happy.

Because we live on a busy downtown street, we keep the cat indoors. All the time. She has not been outside in nearly three years. As a prospective responsible party for an adoring, well-mannered cat (with its own computerized litter box), you need to know that the cat probably would be OK out of doors, but it really is an indoor cat.

I could go on and on about the cat, but right about now you're starting to get heavy eyelids. You don't want to hear any more sales pitch about a cat.

So let me be plainly blunt:

Help.

I want this 3-year-old cat to have at least 16 more years of bliss. She deserves it. You deserve her.

You know where to reach me. Call today. Consider taking this cat as your contribution to the advancement of medical science. Or your humanitarian deed for the day. Or just a nice thing to do for an old editor who loves cats.

Am I reaching you?

Anyone?

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.