In our book ANGEL CATS: Divine Messengers of Comfort, Cuddles, our kitty with many opinions, has her own advice column.  It's called "Ask Cuddles." Our friend Barbara decided to present a question of her own to our feline philosopher. "Do you like being in ANGEL CATS?" she asked.  To our surprise and amusement, very distinctly Cuddles quickly answered with a meowed, "Yes!"

Everyone who has read ANGEL CATS, loves the "Ask Cuddles" advice column. View our YouTube.com video above to see how Cuddles helps us in our presentation.

The story in this edition of the blog reminds us of the strange ways that life's greatest tragedies often bring about miraculous changes in people and in animals.  Judy's experience happened during a hurricane.

A HURRICANE MIRACLE
By Judy Davis

One morning about ten years ago, a lanky teenage cat arrived on our doorstep.  He was a beautiful, solid black cat with green eyes.  A closer look revealed a pellet hole in his left thigh and singed hair just above his tail.  This poor guy was in sad shape.  He "r-r-awd" once and lay down near the door.  I brought him tuna in a little bowl and some water.

The obvious action would have been to call Animal Control. After all, there was that pellet hole in his back leg.  I looked up the number and picked up the phone . . . and held it for a minute or two before putting it down on the kitchen counter.  I thought it would be a good idea to check the cat again.  He had eaten a substantial amount and at present, was in a catlike contortion, cleaning his wound. "Gutsy," I thought.  "Maybe he can make it."

In the next three days, I called a pet store and a local cat lover for advice.  Both advised me to call the pound and have him put down, suggesting the cat would suffer an agonizing death if I didn't. But the cat continued eating and taking care of his wound.  Didn't someone of importance once say that cats could heal themselves? I named him Blackie.

Each morning, Blackie appeared at my door to eat and then, to nap on a chair on the front porch.  He was, in the way of cats, most independent, and his wound had healed.  Blackie was an outside cat, not interested in coming inside.  He cautiously allowed me to scratch the side of his neck and behind his ears, but no more.  Later, on occasion, he allowed me to pick him up, but when I did, every muscle in his body tensed, ready for a quick get away.  He had some stiletto claws.  When he yawned, I noticed that those fangs were ferocious!

Sometimes Blackie would vanish for three or four days, then arrive home as the victor or the vanquished, depending on the dude he scrapped with.  The years have left him lean with a kink in his tail.  He sports the scars of war, but he arrives home in his own time.

A couple years ago, one of his eyes started to close with a white, thick film taking over.  Blackie couldn't see out of the eye, but he went on with his life.  He has his routes to follow and he comes to eat and lounge in the chair through the heat of the day.  Soon, though, his other eye began developing a film.

Then, something unimaginable happened.  Charley, the Hurricane, paid us a wicked visit.  Blackie and Fluff, another volunteer cat, vanished about three hours before all Hell broke loose.

The next morning, amid the wreckage of trees and other debris, Blackie and Fluff appeared.  Somehow, they were dry and as usual, very hungry.

I set out a bowl of food and stood there as the two cats jumped up on the little table where they are fed.  As usual, Fluff boosted Blackie out of the way by bumping him in the rear with her nose.  That got him to move fast.  She ate her fill, knowing it was her independent right!  When she finished, she jumped down, and Blackie had his turn.

"Good Boy, Blackie," I said, scratching behind his ears.  He raised his face to reveal that the film, which had covered his eyes, was gone.  I could see his eye clearly.  It was dark rather than green, but it was clean.  In itself, that was a big surprise. Could he see?  I wasn't sure.

The next afternoon, Blackie walked over and r-r-awd at me, then jumped up.  His eye was as green and clear as it used to be. He followed the movement of my fingers and took a treat that I cautiously offered.  So far, I can't tell much about the other eye. It doesn't seem right . . . yet.

How did it happen? 

The only thing I can imagine is that the terrible wind may have had something to do with it.  Could the wind have sent a sharp blast that cleared his eye?  Is there another answer?

Blackie accepts the return of his sight and, as I speak, basks outside in the front porch sunshine.  He's very definitely watching a little squirrel as it scrambles round the trunk of a weathered old oak.

BIO:
Judy Davis is a retired upper elementary/middle schoolteacher who now enjoys having time to write her own stories.  She is an animal lover.

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT:
The storms of life blow away more than our possessions. What have the winds of change removed from your eyes?