Submitted by Elaine Magliaro, Guest Blogger
A couple of years ago, Jonathan highlighted a “Pet of the Week” post on Sundays. This Saturday before Easter, I’d like to return to highlighting a pet of the week–my cat Abby. Abby was a gift given to my daughter Sara by her high school boyfriend when she was a junior. Sara’s boyfriend got Abby for her after we had to have Amber, the cat my husband and I gave our daughter for her eighth birthday, put to sleep. (Amber had cancer, had difficulty walking, and was barely able to eat.)
Sadly, this week, we had to have Abby put to sleep. It was a decision that had to be made. I was at my daughter’s house late Monday night when my husband called with the news that Abby was in distress. He wanted to know where the nearest animal hospital that provided 24-hour emergency services was located. Fortunately, my daughter and son-in-law knew of an excellent veterinary hospital not too far from our house where they had to take their dog Jack last year when he suffered from heat stress. Like Amber, Abby had been having some difficulty walking recently. She also had a heart murmur and congestive heart failure. I’m glad that she didn’t suffer for long.
It is often difficult to put into words the effect that loved ones—including our pets—have on our lives. Abby became MY cat after my daughter went off to college in 1998. Abby could often be found at my side—when I read the morning newspaper, when I worked at my computer, when I watched television, when I sat outside in the sun on the back deck reading books. She often slept next to me in bed. She was great company for me when my husband spent time away from home on extended business trips. Abby was my furry little friend who provided comfort to me when I suffered the loss of family members and friends over the years.
Since April is National Poetry Month, I thought I’d post two poems I wrote that were inspired by Abby. The first is a Fib, a poem of six lines and twenty syllables based on the Fibonnaci sequence (1/1/2/3/5/8). The Fib was invented by Gregory Pincus, a poet and screenwriter. Pincus made the “Fib” popular in 2006 when he posted about his new poetic form on his blog GottaBook. My second poem, I’m Cat, is called a mask poem. In it I speak in the voice of my cat Abby.
Here are my poems in memory of my cat Abby:
Cat
Soft
Furry
Purry friend
Cuddler on the couch
My comforter curled beside me
I’M CAT
I’m cat.
Come pat
My head.
I’ll purr.
Please stroke
My thick
And silky fur.
I’m clean,
Serene.
I lick.
I preen.
I’m naughty…
Haughty.
I’m the queen.
R.I.P.
Abby
Thanks to all for your condolences and stories. Although I’m sad that Abby is no longer with us, I know we cared for her as best we could. There is nothing more we could have done. All her wants and needs were always met. If all children were cared for as well as many of us care for our pets, the world would be a much better place.
Elaine M.
My family and my condolences at this time for the loss of what the word “pet” does not describe.
Elaine: Please accept my condolences.
I live in a two story house. Today my 16 year old Himalayan cat (who I’ve owned since he was a kitten) was upstairs on the bed, sleeping (something he’s doing a lot of lately). I spent about a half an hour downstairs and all of a sudden I heard a thump upstairs. {The Big Fluffer jumping off the bed.] Fluffernutter (a/k/a the Shadow) came downstairs. He had to know what I was doing. He literally follows me everywhere.
He has been with me through thick and thin. Four years ago he got very sick and I had to squirt high calorie mush down a tube exiting his esophagus every 6 hours for 3 weeks. No one could understand why I would spend $8,000 to keep a 13 year old cat alive, but I think you would understand. He just got a clean bill of health from the vet a few weeks ago.
Two years later I am in agony from neurological pain and lying on the floor, unable to sleep. Who was there, tossing his toy around and sleeping near my head? You guessed it.
Many years ago I had to put an 18 year old and a 19 year old alley cats (both of whome I’d owned since they were kittens) to sleep and felt like I was poleaxed.
So, to use a trite phrase, I feel your pain. I loved your poems and I am sorry for your loss.
Amity