Jacquelyn Ligon

I was 19 years old at the time and still living at home with my mom. Our back door was often left open so our cat, Blackjack, could come and go as he pleased. It worked great for everyone involved. That is, until "the orange cat" arrived.

Our downstairs neighbor had moved out and apparently she did not want to take her cat with her. Blackjack was none too pleased to have to share his home with another cat but we were not about to leave him on the street.

For months, this new cat was nothing more than an orange and white blur running across the room, yellow glowing eyes under the bed, and an empty cat food bowl. No one could seem to get a good look at him. We just called him "the orange cat."

Finally, my mom came up with the perfect name. "It fits him perfectly." He would be called "Phantom." It was definitely the perfect name for our mysterious friend. It took several more weeks before Phantom was more comfortable with us.

One day, I was lying on my bed watching television and he came strolling in. So not to scare him off, I slowly lowered my hand over the edge of the bed. He walked right up and bumped his head into my hand. I scratched behind his ears and under his chin. He was in heaven.

I learned quickly that head and chin scratches were Phantom's favorite type. But there was a problem. I noticed when I scratched him that there were bumps all over his head and body. I assumed he had some kind of skin condition that needed to be treated.

Phantom needed to be taken to the vet anyway for a check-up and to make sure he had all his shots so we made an appointment. I sat in the vet's office while Phantom explored his surroundings. When the vet came in, I explained how he just showed up one day and we had no information on him. I also told him to check his skin because he has some kind of skin problem.

The vet looked Phantom over. "OK. He is a neutered male. Normal temperature. Healthy weight. We'll get him up to date on his shots. Everything seems to be good except for one thing. I am very concerned about the flea infestation."

"What fleas?" I didn't remember seeing any fleas.

The vet motioned for me to come closer. "Look," he said as he parted a small area of fur on Phantom's back. A half dozen fleas ran into hiding. It took all my strength to keep my breakfast down.

"The bumps on his body are not a skin condition. He has the worst flea infestation I've ever seen. The black spots on his nose and around his eyes are an allergic reaction to so many bites. We'll give him some Frontline flea medicine and see if that works. You may need to bring him back for a flea bath."

I stood looking at Phantom for a minute. This poor creature was literally covered in fleas from head to toe. And I had touched those fleas, numerous times.

As the vet walked out, Phantom pleaded with his eyes for me to pet him. But I was disgusted by the thought of touching those fleas again. But how could I resist those beautiful eyes? I relented and scratched his head and chin just like he liked it. I wasn't about to let some fleas deprive this cat of pure ecstasy.

The vet soon came back with the medicine and we immediately put it on. Then I took Phantom home and my mother bombed the house to kill any fleas that might be hiding.

In less than a week Phantom's flea problem was gone and his coat was shiny and soft. And with the elimination of the fleas, he became a whole new cat. He no longer ran when someone entered the room and he even began venturing onto people's laps for even more pets.

He never tired of getting those scratches. And Blackjack learned to deal with it.

Oh, crap...