They do. I tell Doug every morning that it is “take your cat to work day”, everyday he says no.
But they are worth their weight in gold. Cats are among the world’s best physicians. Dogs are too, I don’t want to offend dog lovers, we have a precious pup also. But a dog, a dog will let you get away with stuff. Dogs have great compassion. They will be quiet with you, if you hurt, they will hurt with you. Not so the cats.
A cat will come and stretch out across your back as you hang your feverish body over the end of the couch. You are hoping to die because of an evil virus, the cat is reveling in your body heat. A cat will do the most obnoxious things to get your attention so that out of sheer desperation you open a fresh can of ocean whitefish and present it to kitty. Kitty takes two small bites, pushes his dish away and says he couldn’t eat another bite. Amid muttering murderous threats at kitty, he reminds you that he left something in his box and could you go clean it out. Oh, and he is sorry for what didn’t make the box, could I get that also. Cats don’t really care if you are exhausted, sick, sad – they just know they are hungry, cold, and want a clean box. You can hug on a dog’s neck and they will be anxious about the tears you shed, the cat? Not so much. Oh they will come and see what’s up, then they will push stuff off the desk to distract you. They will sit on your keyboard and erase what you just typed, or send a bill you weren’t quite ready to send, post a comment you were just going to delete.
You sometimes wonder what a litter pan free home would be like, until one of them turns deathly ill on you and starts throwing up blood, then nothing else matters anymore. You gather up that little 9 pounds of fur, choking back sobs that came out of nowhere, and hope that someone can make her better. Not our little Tasha, I thought to myself, not Justin’s
favorite, the one who claimed him as her particular favorite. heir great attachment started when she was two weeks old and all of four ounces. Justin was recovering from another foot surgery and two mostly dead, abandoned kittens provided us with a summer of memories. Justin was a natural at comforting them, burping them, drying them off, his natural calm soothed them to sleep and they contentedly stretched out on him.
We already had two adult cats and the thought of bringing the numbers up to four did not thrill me. I thought that we could keep one, the little boy, and find a good home for the little girl. I have never been fond of female
cats, there is usually room for only one queen in the house and I rather liked being it. Justin started a quiet campaign for his little princess. Justin had this way of cocking his head to one side and looking up at you with his dark eyes, I pretty much knew we were going to be a four cat household. I asked Doug about keeping the pair, Tasha had exercised her considerable wiles on him also, he said that it would be no hardship.
It was hard for Justin to go back for his last semester at Franciscan. I promised to send him pictures of the kittens. They would both run to him
when he came home from school, weaving and bumping, jumping on his back, racing him to his room.
I choked back more sobs as these memories flood my mind as I hold Tasha. She is limp and her eyes are so tired The emergency vet had dosed her with anti-nausea and anti-vomiting meds in hopes of calming her system down. e take her home and set her up in her own little space. I boil some chicken in hopes of coaxing her to have some broth. I sit with her and hold her, she looks up at me, “I miss him too Tasha, I wish he was here.” Oh the attachment we have to our dead children’s pets. They are keepers of memories that no one else can share or know. They hold in their small furry bodies the remembrances of golden summer days and cozy winter storms. She sighs and I cry, surprised at the tears I cannot stop. I
can’t imagine Tasha dying, as long as she is alive, then a part of him is too. When she dies, she takes with her proof of a cherished time, proof that a boy did live, a gentle and loving soul. Silly isn’t it, she is just a kitty, and of course he lived. But there is a bond that exists between our now dead child and his beloved pets. We hold on to anything that is a link to the past that held a boy with shaggy dark curls, it is so hard to know that one by one those links will go away. We move farther and farther away from the place where time stopped and then started again in such a unnatural way.
I tucked Tasha in for the second night fully expecting her to die during the night. She had lifted her little face to mine as much to say goodbye. I bit my lip and cried silently. I woke up the next morning dreading what I would find. I peeked in on her and there she was sitting up, she chirped a bit and I quickly warmed some fresh broth for her. She lapped it up and snuggled down again. I let her sleep. She slept for most of two weeks. I was not terribly hopeful, glad she was still alive, but expected her to slip away at any point. But then she rallied, Ryan came home for an extended stay and she found a reason to groom and preen again. She listened for his footstep and would beg a tiny morsel of whatever he was eating. By the time
the vet checked in on her, she had gained back almost 4 ounces. She is quite the queen again, and I gladly share the position in the household. She and I have a common bond, the love of a boy. I believe she remembers him and in her own way, misses him. I got a taste of what it will feel like to say goodbye to Justin’s kittens. I can’t imagine life without them, without their memories to bolster my own.
Life seems to be more about goodbyes than greetings. It strengthens my resolve to not take one moment for granted, to stop and truly appreciate their feline beauty, the gracefulness of their lines, their charm, to be grateful for their companionship. Without their insistence on my being engaged with life, it would be easy to not care, to give up. But they are not to be denied, they are great healers, their wise little faces demand a response. And before you know it, you are up, dressed, feeding the furry ones, sweeping floors, and cleaning under the stove to find lost mice. They run through the house with their backs all humpy and their fur up, tossing out a challenge to grab hold of the day.
And I can see a boy in my mind’s eye cock his head and look at me and say “ain’t they cute”.
