Love isn’t something you see with your eyes.
I first wrote that sentence almost exactly five years ago. It was part of the cover letter I sent to literary agents, hoping one of them would agree to represent a book I’d written — a memoir called Homer’s Odyssey about my blind cat, Homer. Homer was then 11 years old, a healthy five-pound dynamo of a cat — friendly, courageous and fiercely loyal. Of all the things I’d learned from him since he’d first entered my life as an abandoned three-week-old kitten, fresh from the surgery that would save his life but forever rob him of his vision, this one, simple idea seemed to say everything.
From Homer I’d learned that even the most “imperfect” of creatures is capable of loving with a deep and perfect love. All they need is someone to give them a chance.