TO REMEMBER OUR FURRY (AND FEATHERED AND PERHAPS SCALED) FRIENDS
I've had many pets through my life and loved them all. When they pass, it's as traumatic for me as the loss of any human friend. At last I have an opportunity to acknowledge their lives and love. I've no doubt they are waiting for me in heaven. I only hope I live sufficiently to arrive there myself..
Alfred - My Personal Cat Tribute Squeaky and Alfy, best friends
IN MEMORY OF ALFRED (ALFY)
Too often we dismiss the death of a pet as a minor event, not sharing our grief because we hold animals to be somehow less important than man. But they are fellow souls that contribute richness to the world. They are devoted companions that can mean as much to us as our fellow humans. Alfy saved my life. He was an extraordinary cat. He woke me each morning at 4:49, a minute before my alarm clock. Even day light savings changes only threw him for a day or two. He was absolutely dependable. Then one morning he woke me two hours early and refused to let me fall back to sleep. At his insistence, I roused enough to smell the faintest hint of smoke in the air. I tried to dismiss it as my roommate sneaking another cigarette on the porch, but Alfy would have none of my sleepy carelessness. When I rose to investigate, I found a small fire on the porch. A careless cigarette had ignited a pot of discarded butts and the resulting fire had melted the container, spreading the flames across the concrete toward the house. The growing pool of burning plastic had already consumed yard tools and debris. As I looked, the flames were starting on a table leaning against the house. It took me fifteen minutes to douse the fire. Plastic is oil based and seemed to reignite even as I poured water over the traveling mass. I have often wondered how long it would have taken before it burned the house, had Alfy not insisted I get up early that morning. Alfy was critical in our rescue of a small, injured, orphaned kitten we named Squeaky. Squeaky was barely alive for days after his surgeries to repair a large gash on his leg. Alfy tenderly nursed him back to health, cleaning his fur, coaxing him to eat, playing gently with him, and watching over him. As Squeaky grew they became best friends, and romped through the house together for the next several years. Alfy coaxed me back to health, too, as my marriage ended. He stayed by my side through my divorce and my forced move to a new city. His natural affection soothed my many tears and made me chuckle, even as I mourned the loss of my dreams. He greeted me at the door each time I came home and nuzzled his way into my arms as I fell exhausted onto the couch after work. I fell asleep each night to the sound of his purring and gentle melodic mews. There was no time for me to say good-bye when he passed. I neglected to realize how seriously ill he was when I left him behind at the vet’s that day. It never occurred to me that his life force, so strong and joyous, even on that final morning, could so easily pass away. The shock has shifted to guilt and regret. I remember his soft tongue kisses, his caressing paw, his three foot leaping on crooked legs, the smell of his soft fur, and the loving wisdom in his eyes. |
My little chickadee. He was a wild bird that showed up at my feeder one morning and he drew my immediate attention because of a damaged leg. I learned a lot about myself that summer as I watch him returned and tried to keep him alive and well. He was feisty and managed to fend off the larger, healthier birds, even as he pecked at the spilled seed on the ground. His voice was so high it barely registered in my ear, but I listened for his tune every morning. My cat, Boo, caught him twice and carried him in his mouth until I grabbed the poor thing and forced him to drop the bird. When I held him stunned in my hand he was so light that I hardly knew I held anything at all. When at last the cold weather came in I was afraid he might not survive and I purchased a cage I hoped would allow me to shelter him inside through the winter. He died the day after I put him in the cage. I'll never try to contain a wild thing again. He resist in my garden under the lemon balm and I remember him still. I think it was his disability that ultimately touched my heart. Though I love watching all birds, I came to realize how deeply I long to care for the injured. I decided it was the reason I chose to teach Special Education students and when I look at them, I remember my chickadee.
I can't find a picture of Squeaky, though he lived with me off and on for nearly twenty years. He was a tiger cat, born with half a tail. He was both independent and devoted. He'd leave for three days about twice a year and I'd be worried sick that this time he wouldn't come back. One day, when I was in particular pain and he'd been gone for his "walkabout," I remember crying on my pillow because I felt so abandoned. After all, even my beloved cat had deserted me. Even as I cried, he returned and jumped into my lap. His purring got me through that morning and I still miss him terribly. The stone marked his grave in my garden. I thought the owls were a nice monument to his wise companionship.
Other Pets I've lost and still mourn:"Kitty," a small kitten I got for my infant son.
"MissyMitchsheiva" was a beautiful female cat I took to Seattle with me. She disappeared one night. "Mitch" - tough and half wild, lived in the apartment house without paying rent. "Paris," whom I had as a teen. "Puss," my first cat - and I had and loved him through most of my childhood. |