Rusty: Some Angels Have Paws and Fur

By Yvonne Almeida

There were so many reasons to believe Rusty was no ordinary cat. He hated cat toys. But he would play all day with trains that ran on a track and made sounds. He made vocal sounds more like human language than catcalls. And on April 3, 2014, he made a vocal cry so loud that he saved a life. His owner, his "MA-MMA" was about to leave him forever. And with God's hand, Rusty knew just what to do to save her. After that, Rusty's owner started to realize that he wasn't just a gift from God but was the most spectacular of gifts. She had always believed in angels""guardian angels to be more specific""and now realized hers was a little orange cat with the sweetest face ever. There was no other explanation for this cat's amazing perceptiveness. Others had made comments about Rusty and how astute he was, how he seemed to have a mind that didn't operate like he was "just a cat." Things started to fall into place to support the idea that he had a mission in this life, and most impressively, Rusty knew how to accomplish that mission. His start in life could not have been more unhappy or heartbreaking, yet he prevailed through life as if he was the luckiest little guy ever born! This is the story of how one cat brought God and faith back to a darkened soul, saved a life minutes from leaving this world, and even through his own health dilemmas, created friendships and stories to last a lifetime. "You've lost a therapy pet, a service cat, in my opinion. He helped you navigate MS and helped you through the illness and deaths of your parents...God sent him to you as a furry angel here on earth to support you." Dr. Carolyn Anderson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645157236

Book preview

307279-ebook.jpg

Rusty

Some Angels Have Paws and Fur

Yvonne Almeida

ISBN 978-1-64515-722-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64515-723-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2019 by Yvonne Almeida

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

To God, without whose gift there would be no story

And to Dr. Carolyn Anderson, for without her support, her devotion, her constant bond, and her friendship, there would be no beginning and no end

For He will command his angels concerning you

to guard you in all your ways.

—Psalm 91:11 (NIV)

Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those

who will inherit salvation?

—Hebrews 1:14 (NIV)

Dear friends and family,

This book has been started and put down many times since April of 2014. Although I have been blessed to be published, that was never my intention. The intention is to praise God for His many blessings in my life and to especially bring glory to Him for one very special gift—Rusty.

If you have had a personal connection with Rusty, you know he has a special calling in this world other than just being a cat. Secondly, if you have a personal relationship with God (and I pray you do), you will have no doubt in believing the stories I am about to tell you.

Thank you for taking the time to read the story of Rusty and our journey on God’s path.

With love and prayers of peace,

Yvonne

Rusty the Rescuer

April 3, 2014

The spray from the shower is now cold. I’m watching it rain down on the shower stool and looking at the knife lying on the stool. I am trying so hard to remember…remember the plan. It was so clear just an hour or so ago.

For weeks now, maybe even months, I’ve done nothing but cry. Cry and talk, talk to my husband, my doctors, therapists, and I get the same stares, the same responses. It’s just grief, they all say. It takes time. Or the all-time favorite: You just need to move on. I’m waiting on the person who can tell me how to move on. So the frustration builds.

I’ve always been a person of strong faith. At least I feel I have been. I am still a strong believer, but what is happening to my faith? Why can’t I get out from under this dark cloud of doubt, fear, grief, loss, and basic dread of the next day? Mainly because the next day is just like this day—more of the same. More of the crying, more of the heartache, all a type of pain that I cannot understand. What has happened to my faith? It must be my fault that I have let it slip away. How did I let something so precious slip through my fingers? That is why I am suffering so badly. It has to be the answer.

This morning is a different day. I cry all morning, and then I somehow came up with a plan. My husband is at work, and I have the day to myself. So I cry until I can cry no more. Also I can’t identify why I’m crying my heart out as usual. Then I’m struck by what I think is a good plan to end my suffering. If no one, not even supposedly qualified doctors, can answer my questions as to why I am suffering so badly emotionally to the point that I can’t face the next day, then I need to make a plan myself. And so I did.

I walk the long length from the back bedroom to the kitchen (one end of the house to the other). When I reach the kitchen, I pull open a specific drawer where we keep tools to seed, peel, and chop—but those are not the tools for which I search. I somehow know in my subconscious somewhere that in the very back of this drawer, we keep in a small sleeve a very sharp, very specific knife used for paring. It’s a special knife that is guaranteed for life to never need sharpening again.

The odd thing is we never remember it is in the drawer. My husband, Rick, and I laugh at times over wishing we had a small sharp paring knife only to remember it after we had the need. For some reason, I thought of it today, and went right to it, and then decided to take it into the shower with me.

I have now been in the shower for at least an hour. The water is starting to get a bit chilly, but I don’t really mind. I go through my normal shower routine. I wash my hair and condition it well, and even used a fragrant body wash that is one of my favorites.

Now here I stand, staring at this knife, while the cold shower sprays over me, and I’m trying to remember my plan. Why was it so clear earlier, but now so unclear? I was going to get in the shower, go through my routine, and then what exactly? Not another brain fog, not now! Ah, I think it’s coming to me now. If only I can remember what I read some time ago about slitting your wrists. Is it better to slice them diagonally or horizontally because one of the ways just leaves a bad scar, and you risk the chance of your attempt not working? Oh, dear God, I cry out, please help me to remember.

Now I remember my plan, but I can’t remember the details. Was it slicing horizontal or vertical? Was it quick or a sawing motion? Why can’t I remember? I know I’m doing it here because it’s less cleanup for my husband, Rick. And he will be home in less than two hours, so even if the water continues to run, it won’t be a bad thing. It’s less mess for him, and it should help my blood coagulate faster or is that