In January 1995, we had to have our 13-year-old half-siamese put down. She had cancer of the mammary glands and the vet had done everything he could for her. We loved her so much! She loved us, too, and I think she was grateful when we took her to her vet for the last time. She was in horrible pain, and when the cancer returned, it had spread all through her -- even into her brain.

Well, our grief was unbearable. We, my husband and I, cried every time we thought of her, every time we discovered one of her toys in an odd corner, every time we did something or said something or saw a tv show that reminded us of her. We decided that saving another little life might make the grief more bearable, so one weekend day, we went to the ASPCA shelter in our city to adopt another kitten or cat. We both believe it is so very important to support no-kill shelters like the one we have here, so we made a donation and then went back to see the cats.

And there he was, a neutered male, about 4 months old, staring at us with big blue eyes through the cage wire. His stare was so intense, in fact, I started to cry. Ivory always stared at me like that. We'd really intended to get a grown cat because they're so hard to place, but this kitten just kept drawing us over with his eyes. His shelter name was BeBop and that seemed to fit him. He reached a paw through the wire and snagged my finger, curling his paw around it. Of course, I was lost from that point on.

We brought BeBop home and renamed him Gypsy. He just looked like a gypsy somehow. The first indication we had there might be something strange going on was when Gypsy discovered one of Ivory's toys in one of those hiding places she'd carefully kept. He brought it out and, exactly as Ivory had done when she was healthy, began tossing the toy up in the air and catching it in his mouth. When he ate, he would pick up his dry food exactly the way Ivory had done -- snagging a piece with her claw, lifting it to her mouth. He wouldn't drink out of the water dish we'd provided. Instead, he preferred the faucet, just like Ivory.

The kicker came that first night when we went to bed. We'd long missed Ivory crawling into bed between us under the covers. You know how cats in a new home can be shy and avoid being seen for a few days -- hiding out under the bed or wherever? Not Gypsy! In fact, that first night, he jumped up on the bed like he owned it, climbed over my husband and darted under the covers to nestle down between us as though this is what he'd always done and saw no reason to change it. He even flopped down carelessly the way Ivory had always done it!

We've accepted that Gypsy is the reincarnation of Ivory. He is so much like her it's like having her back with us.

Copyright © Rita D. & Michael Miller
August 17, 1998