Tommy: nonfiction by Scottie Crites

(cat sleeping in sunshine, image by katerinavulcano, on Pixabay, modified)

Tommy

One evening, the family and I were at the dinner table, and I noticed that Theresa, my wife,

had tears in her eyes. I saw her go out into the garage with a flashlight. Rather strange since our garage was very well lit and, when she came back in, I asked her what was bothering her and why she needed a flashlight.

Tears came to her eyes, and she said that the cat was gone. She told me how cats, when they sense they are dying, will leave their surroundings and go off to be alone to die. And she was going out into the garage with her flashlight every half an hour or so in hopes that the cat would return home.

There’s an interesting story about our outdoor cat. I really don’t know if it had a formal name, except maybe “Kitty” when Theresa called out for it. I called it “Tommy.” But what

do I know? I called our indoor cats and our dog “Tommy,” too.

To be honest, I’m not too much of a pet fan, but Theresa loves her animals, so I’ve learned

to tolerate them. Never really understood why people get wrapped up in their pets… until

that night. 

You see, Tommy had been a fixture in our household for a long time. He came and lived

with us for nine years. Same year Theresa got the dog. Come to think about it, the same year Theresa married me. Now, there’s something wrong with that—Theresa taking me in

at the same time she took the dog and the cat in. 

Well, anyway, one day that scraggly, little thing appeared in our garage, and Theresa’s dad

kind of adopted him. Old John loved that cat. He would hold the cat for hours at a time…

petting him… scratching his ears... rubbing his belly. 

Me? I hated the cat! He was a plain old, measly tomcat who always seemed to have a runny nose. The cat ignored me, I ignored the cat, and it was a livable situation.

That winter, Tommy got cancer. It started out slowly but, by the end of the winter, cancer had eaten away part of his face. The veterinarian said there wasn’t too much we could do for Tommy. Either we could put him to sleep, or we could continue caring for him, as he didn’t feel that the cat was in any pain.

Every day it was the same old thing. Tommy would scratch at the door when it was

feeding time, and Theresa would step out and feed him… spend a few moments with him. And every night, Theresa would faithfully go out and put salve on Tommy’s face.

Eventually, Tommy went blind. The last few weeks, Theresa would leave the garage door cracked so that Tommy could walk just a few steps out to warm himself in the sun.

Theresa really loved Tommy, and she was just as devoted to him as she was to the kids or me when we weren’t feeling well. Sometime during the week, Tommy just slipped away.

I learned a lot about cats that week. I learned a lot about my wife that week. Every night she would go out into the cold garage and patiently put ointment on a dying cat’s face.

And she would hold that cat and love that cat as if it were whole again.

I learned a lot about life that week. I learned that, in all our ugliness, God can find beauty

in us. I learned that He loves us all the same. It doesn’t matter if we are pretty or not so pretty. It doesn’t matter to Him that we have flaws and imperfections. It doesn’t matter how ugly we look to the outside world, because to Him we are beautiful.

It’s kind of funny how God puts ordinary things like a mangy old tomcat into our lives… in order for us to see Him more clearly.

_____________________

Scottie Crites has written numerous anecdotes / short nonfiction stories over the years

and, as a 76-year-old retiree, he is ready to start getting published.

September 2025 issue