Dedicated to my Momma cat Trixter, who later became known as "Wheezer". Pictured here with her son, Baby aka The Boy, on the left. As you can tell, Mother and son were inseparable, like bookends. 

Trixter had a long, hard life for a cat. She was the tamest of many stray cats that seemed to flock to my parents' house in NY. Trixter was just a young cat when she arrived, pregnant. She continued to have kittens every year after that. She was always a good Momma to them. People would always come to the house and pick out kittens for themselves and/or their children.

Trixter and the other cats were wild and could not be caught to take to the veterinarian. So my parents did the best they could for them and made sure they always had plenty of food and water. My Dad even built a large house-shaped shelter complete with a shingled roof. He filled it with hay to keep them warm. To my Mom's dismay he aptly labeled it with a hand made wooden sign that read "Cat House".

After my parents died, I was forced to go and trap the cats and take them to the Humane Society. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I hated tricking my Dad's little companions into the traps. I'll never forget the looks of fear and disgust in their eyes from inside the traps. I couldn't bring myself to trap Trixter so I brought her home with me to PA, along with a kitten from her latest litter. 

Although Trixter and her baby were not used to being handled, I did manage to get them both to the veterinarian to be spayed and neutered. They both grew to love their new home surrounded with grass and trees instead of traffic. 

Trixter taught The Boy everything he needed to know and would have defended him to the death. She was so protective of him even though he grew to almost three times her size. Still, he was always her baby. 

Trixter developed some sort of emphysema or breathing disorder, hence the nickname "Wheezer". She would not take any type of medication. She was wise beyond her years and could smell a pill a mile away.

Two years ago, Baby somehow broke his leg. While he was in the hospital having a plate put in his leg, Wheezer stopped eating. She wasn't drinking and even refused tuna. I knew her time was running very short and I just pet her and pet her tiny frail body. She looked up at me and purred even though she was so ill. She left for a walk the next morning as she often would only this time she never returned. I wonder if she thought her son was not coming back. If she was relieved that he may have found a new home and she wouldn't have to be strong and take care of him anymore. I hope that she walked to one of her favorite places and died in peace.

The Boy recovered famously from his injury and has grown into the most beautiful, healthy and strong cat ever. After his accident he changed completely from a wild cat and became my best friend. He likes to be petted/patted hard on on his back, just the way my Dad always used to pet the biggest male cat at his house. Baby is such a character and I know my Dad would just love him. I am so glad that I rescued them both that day.