Tribute

It's the midst of my 4-night off stretch, and I'm working on trying to accomplish something.  Anything. 

I did get a bunch of scrap fabric cut into strips yesterday, but there are tons more where that came from.  But I needed something rather mindless to work on.  Something I could do through teary eyes and not worry if I messed up.

DD had to put her cat to sleep yesterday.  The grumpy old man.  The cat who, as a 5-month-old kitten at the pound stuck his paw through the cage and summoned Jack over to his side and convinced my husband he would be the perfect cat for our 15-year-old daughter.  The feline with more personality in one paw than I have ever seen in any other cat. He would have been 17 years old in May.

In his life, he lived in 3 different states, traveling from New Mexico, to New York, and finally to Virginia. He made 9 different moves, once living with 4 females, 2 other cats, a dog and a rabbit, to living only with my daughter and being totally miserable while she spent long hours away from home, studying.  He was happiest when there were lots of people around to do his bidding.

He loved ice cream and yogurt and tuna, and hated DD's singing.  He loved a fire in the fireplace and watching birds out the window and hated cat carriers.

He survived being hit by a car twice, an abscess on his head (unbelievable hole!), a near-amputation of his tail, being locked in someone's garage for 10 days and innumerable brushings. Under loud protest, he has spent the last 7 years as an indoor cat.  A talker, he had many long conversations with DD about why he was no longer allowed to go outside.

He "saw" DD graduate from high school, then college, then law school, finish a clerkship, and finally settle into her dream job.  He was a little part of her past, a little part of our home that could be with her when her Mom and Dad couldn't. 

But he was tired, and sick, and decided he'd done all he could do to raise her.  It was time to cut the apron strings. She brought him home from the vet Fri. evening for one last night at home.  She built a fire in the fireplace, and he slept on his bed in front of it all night, with only a few moments with her on the couch to give a few more purrs before resuming his place in front of the warm fire, his emaciated 6-pound frame constantly needing heat. 

Sat. morning she and a friend drove him to the vet, while he protested feebly from the cat carrier.  To make him happy (he loved to complain), she sang a few tunes with the radio.  He grumbled.  Refusing to take death lying down, he sat, and leaned against her until he could no longer sit and had to be helped to lie down. Independent to the end.

Well done, Cyrano.  Well done.