I had planned to write the story of my cat, Pierre, but then it hit me. Why not let him tell his own life story?

So I now introduce you to “P.” Many of you know him already. The minute you walk into our apartment he runs to meet you and sit on your lap if possible. So, here goes.

There I was, alone, very sick and starving and not more than three weeks old. I’ll be dog gone if I remember why I was abandoned and maybe it’s just as well. I mean, surely I had a momma and siblings but somehow I was separated from them and any source of milk or food. Somebody must have seen me hiding and waiting to die and took me to a shelter.

It was a Friday and no vet could see me until Monday. I recall hearing somebody saying that I wouldn’t last until then. That was when somebody there called Jean to come to the shelter.

Wow. What do ya’ know. I’m a mess with badly infected eyes, runny nose and nothing but skin and bones.

It wasn’t long before this lady named Jean walked in and she was already holding her arms out. She scooped me close to her chest. Man, when she did that, I just figured I was dying so I flopped my head over and closed my eyes. But as she cradled me she said she suspected I was starving so she asked somebody to get some warm milk and a small plunger.

Holding me so I wouldn’t choke, Jean began sticking the plunger inside the side of my mouth gently squirting warm milk in. After the first shock, I swallowed over and over. Never had I felt so nice and full. She even put a little soft warm special kitten food into the plunger and I just let it slide down my throat. Oh, the joy I was feeling. She burped me and then I crawled up to her neck, stuck my face into the soft skin next to her ear, curled my skinny body around her neck and fell fast asleep. The feeling of being cared for was so foreign to me but was magical. When she took me home I was in heaven.

Remember, though, I was pretty darn sick and it took weeks and weeks of frequent feeding, medications and probably the most important, a lot of love and holding and letting me return to my curling spot around her neck.

Then came the best part of my recovery. She put me in her smock pocket. I went everywhere with her, always feeling the warmth of her body and the movement of her leg. It created an amazing connection with her that I have to this day.

As time went on, stuff was discovered about me. Whereas most cats have five toes on each paw, I have six. Whereas most cats have legs the right length for their body, mine are hugely long. Jean teases that my Daddy was a rabbit.

To top things off, my nose is too long, my ears are too big and sort of flop backward . I’m black and white but not evenly distributed. For want of better words, I think I am a uniquely unequaled cat.

As for my name, “Pierre,” I cannot imagine who stuck me with a name like that. As far as I know, I am not French, and, frankly, the name suggests a bit of class and I gotta’ tell ya’, classy, I ain’t. My name is, “P.”

Eight years ago, we moved to Salida, Colorado. Then three and a half years later because Gene got cancer and passed, Jean and us cats moved to Brookedale in Littleton, Colorado.

Moving got me nervous, but after a while I realized I still was with the lady who held her arms out to me — sickly, skinny, lonely me. She had even put me in her pocket. In fact, you know what? My whole eight and half years of life have been filled with people who love and care for me. I have a momma named Jean, and a buddy named Bella. Who could have ever asked for more for a most uniquely unequaled cat named “P.”

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in the Sun for more than 25 years.