by Janice Willard DVM, from the November 2005 Newsletter

Traveling alone late at night, I stopped at a fast food restaurant. While waiting for my order, a waif-like teenager came up to the counter. I noticed her red hair escaping from under a brown sweatshirt and freckles on her nose. Later, I saw the waif again, now standing out in the far corner of the parking lot, holding a small, orange, tabby cat in her arms.

"Nice cat," I said.

"Do you want to see him?" she asked, and brought him closer for me to pet. “His name is Buddha,” she told me. “He wasn’t supposed to, but he followed me down here.”

“I named him Buddha,” she continued, as I petted and admired him, “because when he was a kitten, he had a really big tummy, like one of those statues you see in Chinese restaurants.” She gave me a long, appraising look as she watched me pet her cat, then asked, "do you know anyone who wants a really nice cat?" indicating the tabby.

I will confess that I started to lecture her: "You know, you shouldn't get a pet unless you are committed to keep it," I started.

Then she floored me. "I love my cat," she said, "but my mom and I are moving to a homeless shelter next week and they don’t allow pets. I need to find a home for him before we leave. I’ve looked everywhere"

"I have too many cats to add another. What about the animal shelter?" I asked.

"If they don't find a home for him in several weeks, they’ll kill him," she said. “I want him to be safe.”

All this time, the cat being discussed was cuddled in her arms. So I took him to hold him. He snuggled right up to me, purring, but his legs were trembling from the cold.

Darn! I am such a sucker.

“How old are you?" "Fifteen," she said. Her face looked 15; her expression did not. She had ancient eyes in a child's face.

Rescue the cat. Heck, I wanted to rescue the girl!

“But you don’t even know me. How can you trust me with your cat?"

“I’m pretty good at telling things about people. I can tell you are kind.” And again, I saw the timeless wisdom in the young girl’s face.

"Okay, I can't keep Buddha, but I could try to find him a home or take him to a no-kill shelter. Will that do?”

"That would be wonderful! I just want him safe. He deserves a better life."

So do you, dear, I thought. So do you.

"But in return, I want you to promise to take good care of yourself, just like you’ve taken good care of him. Make something good of yourself."

"Oh I'm trying," she said, "but I didn't get a very good start in life." There was something wistful and enormously truthful in her summary.

And I thought to myself, with all she has been through, this child still has it in her heart to be trusting and kind. She still knows how to love and to care. If she can hold on to that, she has a chance.

So I put Buddha in the car, and she caressed him one last time and watched me drive away. Buddha hardly made a sound during the long drive home.

Buddha is one of those incredibly affectionate cats who purrs, asks to be picked up, then melts and cuddles in your arms. As I got to know him, I had an even greater realization of the sacrifice she made, assuring he had a good home, even as she was losing her own. I found him a home with a dear friend.

When someone acts with selfless devotion, it is sometimes said that they have “touched the Buddha within themselves.” And it was while remembering the wise, ancient eyes of this child, more worried about her cat than herself, that I realized that I had met more than one Buddha on the road that night. I never got the girl's name. Buddha the cat is going to be okay. I dearly hope she will be as well.

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