Cancer feline liver

As a child of divorced parents, I swore I d never let it happen to me. Yet five years ago, I told my husband I wanted out. We had met in college, and after graduation we did what everyone expected us to do--we got married. Leaving him was awful. I was young, I felt like a failure, and after we separated, things continued to go wrong in my life, both personally and professionally.

Every time I thought things had gotten as bad as they could get, they got worse. Health, career, friends, family, money--nothing seemed to be going right. To top it off, for the first time in my life I was all alone. The friends and social life I'd had when I was married just disappeared. I couldn't eat, sleep or talk to anyone about my feelings. I'd come home to a quiet, empty house. It was as if everything in my life had evaporated--everything except my cat, Toby, that is. My husband and I had bought Toby when we first moved in together, and I got to keep him when we split up. Toby was always there for me, and I talked to him constantly. He greeted me at the door, followed me from room to room, sat on the edge of the tub while I showered and curled up at my feet as I slept.

But soon after my divorce, Toby got very sick. The vet operated and said he had liver cancer. He gave Toby three months to live. That was the last straw. My cat was dying and I couldn't do anything about it, except try to make him happy and comfortable for as long as possible. So I brought him happy toys, gave him lots of love and attention and carried him around everywhere I went, even in the car, where he sat on my lap as I drove.

Then something amazing happened. Instead of getting sicker, Toby got better. And as he did, so did I. Slowly, I started to piece my life back together, learning how to forgive myself and my husband. Toby was there for me every step of the way.

A few years after my divorce, I got into a bad relationship with a guy Toby hated. Stupid me, I moved in with him, and from that moment until the day I moved out, I watched my cat's health deteriorate right before my eyes. Toby never came out from under the bed, he hissed and scratched whenever the guy got near him, and he stopped eating. I was sure he was dying again. Yet the very day I packed my stuff into my car and drove away with Toby in the backseat, he sprang back to life--happy, healthy and my friend again. But once more, I was alone and miserable.

Right around that time, my 83-year-old grandmother, who's not one to mince words, emailed me a note that would change the way I viewed Toby. "Amy," she wrote, "you once told me that Toby hated your boyfriend. Evidently, your cat showed better judgment than you did. We all make stupid mistakes. But I love you anyway." My grandmother's words made me realize that Toby really has been my life's barometer, not to mention living proof that somehow, some way, things would be all right.

I still struggle with the past, but it's getting easier. For the first time, I feel less like what everyone wants me to be and more like me. I even met a great guy who I'm pretty certain is everything I've ever dreamed of: smart, supportive, a good listener and so very kind. But I knew I couldn't be sure unless Toby approved. So a few weeks after our first date, I brought my new boyfriend home for dinner. And that night, as we were sitting on the couch talking, Toby jumped up behind us and started rubbing his head against the guy's cheek. My boyfriend was surprised, but I was grinning. Maybe it was feline intuition, or perhaps just my new guy's aftershave, but finally, Toby and I were completely in sync.

AMY RAPAPORT is a senior editor at Vegetarian Times.