You’ve probably heard the expression that somebody is a “man of few words”. I’m not that guy. I’m a man of many words. I love to talk. I love to write. And yet, it is an odd paradox that when you actually feel like you have something to say, the words fly from you, leaving you unable or unwilling to communicate.
Today, we had to say goodbye to Scrappy, our little gray striped American shorthair:
I write this blog (in part) as a kind of a message-in-a-bottle to my future self. On the anniversary of a post, it recirculates in the side bar on the left. Usually it reminds me of some project I did (and likely abandoned). Or something that I was interested in. A year from now, what am I going to want to remember?
He had the most beautiful green eyes. He never stopped trying to learn to speak. He would look you right in the eye and patiently meow at you repeatedly until you understood what he wanted you to do.
He knew he was part of our family. In the evening when we’d be watching TV, he’d find a place between Carmen and me, either on the couch or on the folding footrest of our recliner and would sit and sleep while we watched TV. If we went upstairs, he’d do the same, until we turned the TV off and then he’d wander off.
Despite being deadly to birds, lizards, and dangerous to other cats, he never scratched or bit at humans. Even when when we gave him a bath, or had to put him in a box to take him to the vet, he would struggle, whine, or complain, but never hiss, never bite, never scratch. And after we’d finish bathing him, he’d get over it immediately, knowing that we were just trying to help him.
He purred a lot. He could meow loudly and insistently. Especially in the morning when I was late feeding him.
He was smart. He learned to raise his paw to beg for special treats.
He loved catnip and to play with his orange shoe lace.
Yesterday he was outside, sniffing at the grass, just sniffing. He loved sunshine and fresh air. While we may have converted him from a mostly feral outdoor cat into an indoor kitty, he always loved to be outside.
We were with him at the end.
He was special. He was loved. He is missed.
Sorry, Mark. We came close to losing Strider a few years ago. Hard to lose a beloved animal friend.
May he always rest in the sunbeam. And (as Tim said at Little Mama’s funeral, many years ago) may he always eat human tuna.
I’m sorry for your loss, Mark. Lost our kitty of 18 years a few months ago, still get pretty choked up thinking about it. People call them pets but they’re family in every way that matters.
My deepest sympathies for your loss. We had to have our dog put down last week and I can appreciate how big a hole a pet leaves. God bless.
I sorry to hear that you lost Scrappy. My condolences to you and Carmen.
Nicely written, he sounds like a grand fellow. I lost a feline friend of 15 years two years ago and I still miss him greatly. I avoided getting another for over a year for fear of going through that deep loss again. But a while back I did and of course the time they are with us is worth the loss at the end.