About a Cat

Two years ago, Pooka, a little black thing hiding under the nearest car in my apartment complex, found me. I began feeding him, but he stayed wary. After he ended up on my doorstep bleeding and ragged from a cat attack, I took him to the nearest vet and adopted him.
He was the perfect little gentleman when he wasn't being a wild thing. Even when he was sick, he'd totter to the litter box. He was stubborn, affectionate, and only had to be told once not to jump up on something. He liked to go outside, still, and roam, and I didn't have the heart to refuse him. At night, he'd strut around the apartment with his tail in the air.
He was more like a little fairy thing than a cat. I remember looking out the window during a full moon one night and seeing him sitting in the parking lot as three rabbits hopped toward him. Two went past, but the first touched noses with him before moving on. And he sometimes reminded me of a black fox.
He wasn't only my little buddy, he was also my good luck charm.
A week after I officially adopted Pooka, 7 days exactly, I was contacted by Harper Voyager. I had entered an open submissions call and two days later, I had an agent and a three-book deal. Coincidence? I think not.
I'll miss my little buddy, who was only with me for two years before lung cancer took him in three days. He had to be euthanized, because there was no hope of treatment and he couldn't breathe or eat, even though, that morning, he determinedly trotted after me. He fell asleep in my arms, knowing that I loved him.