Charity was a kitten that Jimmy Donaldson rescued in 1996. He was a telephone repairman driving to a job when he saw two black ears pop up where three freeways intersect. He caught the first off-ramp and doubled back. Highway Patrol observed Jimmy’s van slowing in the fast lane and pulled him over. That is how Charity’s rescue began. One telephone guy. One deputy sheriff. Both cat lovers.

Hearing a loud “woop-woop,” Jimmy stopped his van on the shoulder. While reviewing Jimmy’s ID, the deputy asked why he slowed down in the fast lane. Jimmy said, “I think I saw a cat.” In a slightly scolding tone, the officer explained that he could have created a traffic hazard. Jimmy pocketed that thought for a moment, hoping for just a warning, but his eyes continued to scour the horizon. The deputy followed Jimmy’s eyes and asked, “What color cat?”

With the deputy leading and Jimmy’s van behind, their search began. The deputy zig-zagged across all lanes, herding cars like cattle. Two black ears popped up again. Jimmy was both excited and relieved. When he reached Charity, she was on a patch of barren dirt, surrounded by noisy cars and hot asphalt, with no safe escape. Jimmy wondered how she ended up there. Just feet away, he was crushed to see the dust-covered shapes of Charity’s mother and siblings. Discovered too late. All hope lost. Too weak and limp to resist, Charity allowed Jimmy to scoop her up.

Jimmy thanked the deputy and rushed to his vet in West LA. Charity arrived unconscious, but sub-q fluids revived her. In the hours and days that followed, Jimmy and his wife, Sandy, along with a houseful of cats, gave Charity the nourishment, medical care, and love she needed to survive. One of Sandy’s cats, a black and white male, took on the role of mother, bathing Charity constantly and protecting her.

When Charity was stronger, Jimmy said it was time to find her a home, words Sandy had secretly dreaded. Sandy came to work and announced, “You are getting a kitten.” I didn’t really want a second cat. We had Riot, a Maine Coon my daughter bought at a pet store the day of the Rodney King protests. So, I resisted the idea of a kitten at first. But Sandy persisted.

When the teary-eyed Donaldson’s brought Charity to our office, I was not ready for what I saw. She was a scrawny, black kitten. Tufts of coiled fur sprouted here and there, barely hiding bald patches of gray skin. Her ears were huge and out of proportion to her tiny face. I am ashamed to admit I was mildly repulsed. Jimmy and Sandy had named her Freeway, but to put Charity’s rough beginning behind, I knew that would be my first change.

Charity’s glossy black coat grew out soft and thick. Her pale green eyes brightened up, and I adored her pointy ears. Those generously-sized “antennas” that flagged down a telephone repairman as he sped by in his van. Those ears saved her. No question. We were besties for ten years, communicating in ways most would not believe is possible. So why didn’t I see the subtle changes? Charity would drop a toy in front of me but only watch while the other cats played. She was growing weak and hid it.

In 2006, heart disease took Charity away from me. I fought hard to save her, massaging her back leg after a blood clot made her go lame. She hid under my bed and seemed to invite death. I pulled her out. Held her closer. Every moment became precious. When Charity threw another blood clot, I was just thankful to be with her. The vet said to be her friend and let her go. But I have never really let her go. Charity gave me ten amazing years. She was my furry soulmate against whom all other cats are now measured. Charity was a gift to my life. No question.