Smokey The Cat is No More

EIGHT AND A HALF LIVES - WHAT A GOOD LIFE SMOKEY HAS ENJOYED

WE'LL PARTNER FOR A FEW MORE STORIES YET

     WE ADOPTED SMOKEY THE CAT ABOUT ELEVEN YEARS AGO, TO KEEP OUR KITTEN "FESTER II" COMPANY. FESTER HAD NOT ENJOYED A VERY GOOD KITTEN-LIFE, AND IT WAS ON ITS WAY TO THE HUMANE SOCIETY SHELTER, FROM A HOME NEAR BALA......WHEN SUZANNE WAS APPROACHED BY A STUDENT, AND ASKED IF SHE "WOULD PLEASE ADOPT HER CAT." HER FATHER HAD SERIOUS ALLERGIES AND THE CAT COULD NOT LIVE IN THE HOUSE ANY LONGER.....AND IT WAS TOO YOUNG TO BE SET LOOSE OUTSIDE. WE HAD JUST LOST A CAT......FESTER I, AND TO BE HONEST, WE DIDN'T THINK IT WAS THE RIGHT TIME TO GO BACK INTO FELINE-MINDING AGAIN.
     SUZANNE FELT SORRY FOR THE STUDENT, AS WELL AS THE KITTEN, AND SHE FIGURED IT MUST BE PROVIDENTIAL AND A LAST HOPE FOR THE BANDY LEGGED WEE BEASTIE. WE ADOPTED HER BUT SHE SEEMED QUITE LONELY, AND TOOK OUT HER FRUSTRATION ON EVERYTHING WITH A CLOTH COVERING. SOMEONE TOLD US WE SHOULD GET A SECOND CAT, AND IT WOULD BALANCE OUT THE BAD BEHAVIOUR. I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT A LITTLE MORE, ESPECIALLY THE BALANCE PART. ADOPTING SMOKEY MEANT WE HAD TWICE AS MUCH SHREDDING OF THE CLOTH, AND RIPPING THE ARMS OF EVERY UPHOLSTERED CHAIR IN THE HOUSE. THEY WERE CUTE, RIGHT? WE HAD BEEN A HOUSEHOLD OF CATS PREVIOUSLY, THREE IN FACT, BUT THE TWO ADULT CATS POLICED THE KITTEN.....WHICH WAS GOOD.
     THIS TIME THERE WERE TWO KITTENS TEARING AROUND THE HOUSE AND IT TOOK A LOT OF PATIENCE TO DEAL WITH.....AND PATCHES ON EVERYTHING FROM THE LIVINGROOM CURTAINS TO THE BEDSPREADS THEY LIKED TO SINK THEIR CLAWS INTO. I DON'T KNOW WHETHER WE HAD FUN OR NOT, BUT THEY WERE PART OF THE CURRIE CLAN, AND THEY WERE ENTITLED TO THE SAME RIGHTS AND PRIVILGES AS THE HUMAN OCCUPANTS.
     SMOKY WAS ADOPTED FROM A HOME IN HUNTSVILLE, AND IT CAME HOME IN THE PALM OF SON ROBERT'S HAND. IT WAS A GREY PUFF-BALL OF A CRITTER, AND IT HAD A SHOE FETISH OF ALL THINGS. IT WOULD SLEEP WITH ITS HEAD IN THE SHOES, SLIPPERS OR EVEN FLIP-FLOPS IF THAT WAS ALL THAT WAS AVAILABLE. AND THE FOOD DISH. WE HAD AN OBESE CAT IN THE MAKING, AND I'M AFRAID WE DIDN'T MAKE VERY GOOD PET OWNERS IN THAT REGARD. SMOKEY WAS BOUND AND DETERMINED TO EAT EVERYTHING. AND WHEN WE GOT A TAPE OF CLASSICAL MUSIC, DONE OVER BY AMERICAN STORY TELLER, GARRISON KEILOR, WITH AN ENTIRE CAT THEME.......WE COULD SEE THE PORTRAIT OF SMOKEY EACH AND EVERY TIME WE HEARD THE MUSIC; ESPECIALLY ONE ABOUT A HUGE, RAVENOUS CAT THAT PUT ITS OWNER, OUT OF FRIGHT, ON TOP OF THE OLD FRIGIDAIRE, IN QUEST OF MORE FOOD!

SMOKEY HAS RUN OUT OF VIM, AND THE VINEGAR

     Fester II was twelve years old when she died this past April. Smokey, at just over eleven years, has been winding down as well, and lately has been exhausted after only a short hike from the food dish to the litter box. In the past two days, we've all recognized that carrying around all that weight, has taken its toll in the past decade. We didn't have the heart to put him on a diet, and I guess we are guilty of hurting his real, pumping heart with over-kindness. I think we tried to budget the food a few times, but he would get up on Suzanne's knee, and slap her on the end of the nose.....if the food dish wasn't up to snuff. She'd hit her, jump down, and head to the kitchen. When Suzanne didn't follow, he'd repeat the act, and in fact, might do the same thing for an hour, if there was no greater food provision, or his provider didn't get up and handle the perceived crisis. Or she would just sit in the doorway, and stare at whoever looked like the guilty party, denying him the rations deserved. We often surrendered because frankly, it was a lot easier than lasting out the persecution. I know we were wrong, but in a hospitable sense. We tried to make him happy, and it may just have cost his health.
     I  have shifted this laptop unit out to the front porch, where Smokey is resting comfortably, occasionally opening an eye to see where I've moved to, just in case I've forgotten our pact to stay together to the end. I feel the same way about him, as he has, by the look in his eye just now, acknowledged that he'd never leave my side either. Smokey is most likely going to pass before me, and of this I'm very sorry. We have been pretty good friends since he stopped tearing apart the sofa and the rugs, and we've met his food interests, which has always been enormously fickle.
     Smokey was named after Algonquin Park's, "Smoke Lake," where we used to paddle our two Currie canoes, when our clan camped at Tea Lake. Actually, Smokey looks like he's been dropped through a dirty chimney, and swished around inside. He's got about three inches of fur before you get to his hide, and when we trim him up in the summer months, to deal with the heat, he looks at us as if terribly embarassed, and will jump on a chair, under the harvest table to sulk. Smokey is also a very communicative cat, beyond the reality it will slap you on the end of the nose. He will sit and meow at you for an hour, even when it's contently fed. I don't know what message it's trying to convey, but we just hit our knee with our hands, and watch which family member he chooses to partner with, at that particular time.
     He has just this minute offered a gentle meow, and is staring at me, as if to say, "well, old chap, it's been a short time, but a good time. Thanks for the memories." Of course I have no choice but to look away, because I refuse to acknowledge that our time together is winding down. I will stop on occasion and sing a song that I used to, when he was a kitten, and we needed him to have a nap to halt, at least temporarily, the carnage he and Fester used to get up to, as best buddies in play.....just not at the food dish.
     I have no right to deny this dear old cat the privilege of passing into eternal bliss......feline heaven. I know it is wrong to make promises to God, that I will be a better person, if only he could please spare my cat. I don't think God should be intruded upon in this way, to heal my heart that feels as if it's breaking. There are so many other more dire consequences facing God and the angels in today's world, to bother heaven with what is natural and expected of life's coil. I suppose it's more a case of feeling sorry for myself, more than for the old cat. This is what my mother would say, whenever one of these life and death issues arose, when I was a pondering, often regretful kid. I hated to see things die. Even a grasshopper in my hand, or a butterfly with a torn-off wing. I didn't understand death then and I sure as heck don't now. Why is it so cruel to the survivors? "That's life buddy, get used to it," my dad would say, and then pass me a glass of ginger ale, which he used to treat everything from an infection, a cut, a headache and a sad heart. He used it so often that I actually started to believe its medicinal properties, and would soon start to feel upbeat and healed again. My cut would still be bleeding a bit. I had just stopped worrying about it, and went back to the baseball or hockey game I had left.
     I'm not happy about these last moments together but I've been in this situation many times before. I am concerned that Smokey knows that our time together has been memorable, and despite some of the calamity, all has been forgiven. Of course it has been forgiven. How could I ever stay mad at a fluffy old cat that has been at my side all these years? I remember, on one occasion, when Robert had an emergency trip to the hospital, and an over-nighter for tests, Smoky cuddled into my stomach on the sofa where I slept that night (next to the phone), and I fell asleep as a result of his purring away the night. Strangely, just as he is easing me right now, with his barely audible purring, with one eye open to make sure I don't leave suddenly......without letting him know I'll be right back. I do feel calm seeing the way he's slumbering away the final hours, as if he is sending me the message, that I must not grieve for him now, but carry on with his brother and sister cats, all once homeless and hungry. They all got along pretty well, although the kitten stage for our other formerly abandoned cats was a little tough on the old trooper. He even shared space at the food dish, which was more than he did for Fester I. They'd even curl up on occasions, in one big furry ball, and we liked to see this on the kitchen floor, or on the sofa where we didn't dare to disturb such a peaceful occasion.
     Smokey and I still have some memories to re-kindle, and seeing as we both have a little time on our hands (and paw), I plan to carry-on writing with this partnership, however failing it becomes in the next few days or weeks. He's not suffering, and is very peaceful when looking about the yard, but it's apparent, that even for a mouse, there is no vigor left to make even a ceremonial chase, for old time's sake. I hate saying goodbyes, so I'm not going to, until the inevitable occurs sometime in the future. I will refuse to give up one moment of our time together, so if a confessional is needed to cleanse the soul, of man or beast, we will have the occasion to clear our respective consciences.
     Like all our critters here at Birch Hollow, they play an active role in just about everything I write or create, and it is natural for me to feel forlorned under such circumstances, fearing very much, my writing career will cease, without the infusion of life they all provide, when I'm looking for help, on yet another editorial, essay or blog. They have never disappointed me. Just made me sad, when they have to leave our company, because their time has ended so unceremoniously, and inconveniently. It is always inconvenient for me. I need them all. I can't spare a single one of these wonderful, heart-warming little creatures, that are the blood of family......and that's the way we have always treated these residents of our modest homestead. They are all important beings, with strong spirits and forgiving souls.
     I must stop now, and settle down to deck level, to comfort my buddy here, and pat that glorious fur that my hands sink deep into, and still feel warmed by the last part of the ninth life, for Smokey the cat. My muse. My friend for long and long, through good times and bad.......but mostly good.
     I'm  sorry to cut this blog short today. My friend needs me close by, and I shall do as I'm asked. It's the least I can do, for all the fun and companionship she has afforded all members of our family. Thank you for joining today's blog. Please visit again.

A FEW FINAL WORDS

     As I wonder each time a pet of ours passes, whether I will ever feel the same good vibes around here, at Birch Hollow, ……..the ones that make me want to sit down for several hours to write.  Well, once again, I have found out something positive about the love for pets and what matters most to a writer. I can still write, you see, and I have found this out by application, of fingers on a keyboard, and a heart still beating in my old chest. I have just finished holding Smoky one last time. He had much less life left than I had thought, earlier today. He is now buried beneath a cluster of birches and evergreens, next to Fester I and Fester II, and how peaceful it all was, when I set down the little marker on the grave……the birds chirping above, and the chipmunks on the woodpile scratching then eating, then scratching some more. Life hadn't stopped for funerary observances. It was the continuation of the cycle, and now it has darkened over the woodlot, and the crickets have taken over the chorus of daily living.
     I will miss Smoky, like all the other critters we have taken into our home…..because they didn't have one. I hope they liked us, as much as we liked them.