|Prior to Sparrow I was not a cat person. From a young age, it was ingrained in me that the only good cat is a... well, you know the rest. Frankly, I would still consider myself a dog person, but I’ve come around to the idea of cats (personable ones, that is- not snob cats).
One day in 2011, I was on a walk on a lovely paved path with a lush wooded area to my left, separated only by a chain-link fence. As I enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air, I suddenly began to hear little mewmews. I paused, looked around, and a little baby kitty jumped out of a tree! As I approached the fence she began timidly walking towards me. Making cat calls was not enough to lure her to the great divide, so I poured a bit of water into the lid of my bottle and enticed her with a fresh drink. I noticed an opening at the base of the fence and once she was close enough I gently scooped my hand around her tiny body and pulled her through the narrow escape. Immediately it was apparent something was wrong. I will spare you the gory details, but her left eyeball was swollen beyond recognition. I rushed her to my dog’s veterinarian, thinking I would simply drop her off. Surely they would take pity on this pathetic creature, fix her up and then find her a home- certainly I was not keeping a cat. Long story short, I was left with a choice: cough up beaucoup bucks to remove her left eye, or have her euthanized. Even though I was not a cat lover, I was an animal lover and there was no way I would let them kill her. After some thinking and chatting with my husband, we decided to contact another vet in town. I took her in the next morning, they ran some tests (she was completely healthy, other than her eye), and they offered to perform the necessary surgery as a teaching opportunity and only charge for supplies. Done and done and the rest is history.
The name Sparrow comes from the 1905 hymn, His Eye is on the Sparrow. That song, and the scripture it references, is a reminder that God is in control, and if He cares enough about the birds in the trees, He always cares about me.
Sparrow was under two pounds when I found her; now she’s pushing 14. To say she has been well-loved is an understatement. There are times I look at her and feel my heart is going to explode. I always say she is more like a dog than a cat (and that’s how I can love her so much). She knows her name and responds to it; she loves car rides, plays fetch, likes to roughhouse, and likes to be brushed. Granted, she is still a cat (and my cat to boot) and does what she wants, and on her own terms. There is no telling Sparrow what to do. At times (more often than not) Sparrow asserts her reign over our house as if it is her imminent domain and we are ever so lucky that she lets us live there. Hence, Sparrow’s House.