I actually began to write Little Man’s story about six months before the terrifying ordeal that very nearly took his life.  

When everything started on that one horrible day in 2012, my writing efforts came to a screeching halt. In fact, I didn’t resume writing for almost a year. But on “that first Friday,” I realized that if Little Man were able to pull through, what a story that would be!  So, I began to take detailed notes of everything that happened.

I’ve never been closer to any animal than I am to Little Man. The thought of losing him was unbearable, and I mean that in the most sincere way. There really was no other choice but to do “whatever it takes” to pull him through.

Both personally and as a military officer, I was used to difficult tasks. I was used to stress. I was used to good times and bad times. But I was not prepared for what happened to Little Man.

At mid-day on Labor Day Monday in September, Little Man was fine.  By mid-afternoon, however, I could tell something was wrong. 

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Things progressively got worse, and quickly, to the point that by that evening he was at death's door ... and no one knew why.

As we struggled over the next several days to determine what happened, two theories presented themselves. The first carried with it an ominous warning:  Usually Fatal in Cats. The second was perhaps even worse since, if true, it meant that a criminal element was involved.  

Things did not look good.  I even went so far as to inquire about what to do if …

So I did the only other thing I could. 

I prayed.

Not once, not twice, not even three times, but on four separate occasions and against terrible odds did I cry out, “GOD SAVE LITTLE MAN!”

God heard me – every single time.

And the picture on the homepage of this website was made possible.

This is our story, Little Man’s and mine.