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Sunday, February 3, 2013

Guinness, 1991 - 2012


It was May 23, 1991. He was a small handful of tabby fur. Poison-green eyes, brick red nose -- both runny due to a massive respiratory infection. He was maybe six weeks old.

"Look, maybe you can do something for him. We can't keep him. Good luck!"

He got better. He went to college with me. He weathered heartbreaks and hangovers, family drama of all stripes and disasters. His fur was absorbent and could mop up tears easily.

He moved to Florida with me, for grad school. He developed a taste for small green lizards, and horked up lizard parts at inopportune moments (often as a form of social commentary, I am convinced). we rode out a hurricane because no shelter in the area would take pets.

He moved back to PA with me, and was there as I navigated pre-wedding planning and all the drama that goes with it. He stalked the 700 square foot domain of our first shit apartment, and made it clear to the new husband that HE had been in my life first, and as far as he was concerned, the husband was transitory. Shoes were crapped in; butts were placed on pillows. Eventually, detente was achieved, but it took years.

He inspected the new house carefully, discovered the best nooks and crannies to sun in, and terrorized any mice foolish enough to set paw in the house. The dog we bought was thoroughly cowed within 48 hours, as was the proper order of things. When dog #1 passed, dog #2 was similarly trained quickly.

He looked on in bemusement as the first baby came home. With resignation as the second one arrived. with indifference as the third one made an appearance.

As he got older, he spent more time sleeping soundly in the sun, and left the running of the household to the younger cats. As elder statescat, he only weighed in on significant issues, and his judgement was given mighty credence.

November 6, 2012: I came home to find him at the top of the stairs, struggling to move his back end and crying. Though the vet is literally 2 minutes away, it was the longest drive of my life.  The vet kindly told me, with pity in her eyes, that there really was nothing to be done -- there is no cure for old age. Twenty-one is practically Methuselah in cat years.

He purred in my arms as she gave him his last injection, looking up into my eyes with his poison-green ones. He calmly closed them one last time, and the purring slowed, then stopped.

I was lost. I sobbed for a few minutes, cradling my cat, and then gently laid his towel-wrapped form on the table. In the waiting room, a woman I had never met before pulled me into her arms and cried with me, and then walked me to my car.

A week later I picked up a box that was much too small to hold an animal who had been such a large part of my life and my heart. I swore that I would never, ever let an animal get that tied up in my heart again, and that I would never subject myself to that kind of heartbreak.

January 12, 2013: she was a small bundle of tabby and white fur, one eye permanently clouded white by an untreated infection. Her oine copper eye glared with "fuck you!" as she thrust her paw between the cage bars to grab my upper arm with her claws....

12 comments:

  1. You don't have a choice when a cat picks you.

    And I think there's something in my eye.

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  2. My condolences on Guiness's passing. It's a hard thing, indeed. How did your children take it?

    My eyes are leaking.

    What's the new cat's name?

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  3. We just put down my oldest cat on Saturday. I'm crying again. I'm so sorry....

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  4. Aw nuts, who started chopping onions???

    My cat has been gone most of a month now. I still imagine seeing her out of the corner of my eye. There really is nothing so saddening as realizing that your cat is not going to be with you much longer, that you should have argued with the vet about quality of life a month ago or more.

    My condolences on Guinness, and my congratulations on "one-eye" whatever her name may be.

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  5. Ooof.

    Someone just poked me in the eye.

    Gentle hugs to you, a giant catnip treat to Guinness, and =^_^= scritches to the new member of the family.

    And as a side note, as I was typing this, my little orange monster knocked a full can of Coke onto the floor. *sigh*

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  6. All I will say is that in retrospect some of the loneliest years of my life were those in which I didn't have fur people to share it with.

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  7. It hurts so bad when they can't stay with you forever. And yes, I'm grappling with that issue myself right now. 7 months ago I lost my Dad, Now I may be losing his dog.

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  8. Pain. It's just such pain, both for you and knowing someday I'll have to face the same thing with Monkey.
    Hope it fades soon for you, and that you discover a new friend there, "fuck you" glare and all.

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  9. I can offer no comment that will ease your pain, so I offer an electronic HUG instead. Best wishes with your new feline family member.

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  10. I'm so sorry for your loss. What a wonderful long life! I went with my best friend last Halloween to take her 21-year-old Jin-Jin to the vet for the last time. His brother Pitzie is still with us, going on 22! I think it makes it even harder when your cat has been part of your life for such a long time, half a lifetime. Thankful that you got to spend more than two decades with Guinness, and that the end was merciful and quick. Wishing you much joy with your new one-eyed addition to the family, may she bring you twenty-plus years of unbridled joy and cattiness.

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  11. I'm so sorry for your loss. What a wonderful long life! I went with my best friend last Halloween to take her 21-year-old Jin-Jin to the vet for the last time. His brother Pitzie is still with us, going on 22! I think it makes it even harder when your cat has been part of your life for such a long time, half a lifetime. Thankful that you got to spend more than two decades with Guinness, and that the end was merciful and quick. Wishing you much joy with your new one-eyed addition to the family, may she bring you twenty-plus years of unbridled joy and cattiness.

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