Jack came into my life when I adopted him several years ago.
He had been on the street during one of the coldest winters on record here in Maine.
Night temperatures dipped as much as 25 degrees below 0.
Now that's cold! I went to The Westbrook Animal Refuge League, now known as The Animal Refuge League of Greater Portland, to adopt a cat.
I looked at all the cats, feeling that I would pick the right one, or better still, the right one would chose me! When I saw Jack he was a sad sack of matted fur and grime.
He had been brought to the shelter in terrible shape, weighing about six pounds.
The tips of his ears and three inches of his tail were frostbitten and infected.
He was a pretty sick little guy.
The staff took great care of him and nursed him back to health, hoping he would be adopted.
While his ears and tail healed, and he gained weight, his spirit remained broken.
Other cats would paw and meow to attract a potential owner's attention, this fellow would lie with his back turned to whomever might want to take a peek at him.
The staff named him "Mufasa", after The Lion King, hoping the name would inspire him to rise to the occasion.
Unfortunately, it didn't.
The first thing I noticed were his ears.
No points.
After hearing his woeful tale and asking to hold him, he never purred, by the way, I decided that this was the cat I could love and devote plenty of time and attention to.
And since he didn't protest, I adopted "Mufasa" and changed his name to Jack Kerouac, in honor of the Beat Generation author of On the Road.
It took time and patience, softly talking to him when he hid under chairs or slunk into the closet at the sound of police sirens or fire engines.
But gradually Jack's personality shifted from the withdrawn, remote and depressed cat he was, to an alert and playful little guy who has become the epitome of curiosity, invention, and cuteness.
Wherever I am, there is Jack.
Jewelry making fascinates him.
This has been, and continues to be, a very special bonding time for us.
I addressed his intense curiosity by giving him a large box and his own beads to play with.
While I work I tell him what I'm making and he listens intently between serious bouts of bead batting.
He takes it all in, sometimes raising a paw to touch an earring or necklace, pretending to perfectly understand the process.
And who knows, perhaps he does.