Posted on 11/25/2003 9:56:23 AM PST by boris
My big old cat, Cloyd, passed away today, after 19 years of life with me. He came to me as a kitten, with his “brother” Gidney. Grey toms.
Gidney and Cloyd (named after the Moonmen in Rocky & Bullwinkle) had distinctly different personalities. Gidney was hyper; Cloyd laid back. Gidney was starved for affection, like a clinging girlfriend. Cloyd, from the beginning, was an irascible beast, accepting affection grudgingly, on his terms. I didn’t much care for Gidney. I came to love Cloyd with all my heart. Gidney was “easy”; a slut. Cloyd played hard-to-get, a challenge. He seemed to say, “If you want my trust and my affection you will have to earn it.”
Both were indoor cats. One day, due to illness and dull thinking, I left the front door unlocked. The wind blew it open and Gidney vanished. A hawk or coyote got him, I suspect. I did not grieve much for Gidney, though I searched everywhere for him, put up flyers, made the rounds of the animal shelters.
Cloyd was alone. I thought him lonely, so I sought a companion. I wanted a female cat. Lady cats have bigger plumbing and don’t block as easily as males. A friend called me from Albuquerque. He had a black cat abandoned by its owner. “Male or female?”
“Male.”
“OK, I’ll take it.”v
That’s when Ringo appeared. A domestic long-hair, with a tail that loops into a circle as it comes off his back. He arrived sodden; completely soaked in his own urine. The idiot who’d driven him up from Albuquerque had left him in a carrier for the entire trip. A more disheveled creature I have not seen. Ringo was almost named ‘Helix’ but I thought that too cute.
Ringo turns out to be Gidney on steroids. He wants to worship at the Church of Boris, and is content only when in close physical contact with me. I hate him. Well, not really, but constant worship, even from a cat, becomes wearing.
Ringo used to be an outdoor cat, and he longs for the outside world. But, aside from a cat door to my 3rd floor balcony, he stayed in with Cloyd.
Cloyd, at about nine, began to have urinary blockages common to male cats. He had several surgeries, and almost died several times. He was a high-maintenance beast. I calculated that, over his lifetime, he has had well over $10,000 in medical bills. His most recent operation cost over $4,000. The vet and I had a conversation. “This will be his last surgery. He couldn’t survive another, and his quality of life would be zero.” The thought of euthanizing him brought me to tears.
Thinking of the ordeals he has been through, I am amazed at his bravery and resilience. Nine lives…I think Cloyd had 19. A tough guy and a trooper. I suspect that for the last couple of years, he has been suffering in silence. The vet told me his bladder wall was scarred and thickened to an almost incredible degree. Every time he urinated must have been a painful effort.
Cloyd was always a character. He liked dark colors. He would perch on a piece of cloth, a blanket, a garment—if it was dark. If I was wearing my navy robe, he would consent to sit on my chest. If I was wearing something light-colored, he would ignore me.
He used to love to sharpen his claws on my sneakers, eventually ripping out the toes completely. I gave him a pair of sneakers, and he quickly understood that he could do anything he wanted with them, but must leave my other ones alone. Eventually I threw them out; they were no longer recognizable as shoes.
Lately he’d work on some black rubber flip-flops, slowly reducing them to tiny bits.
Cloyd was a low-volume beast. When God designed him, he set the volume control on Cloyd’s purr-motor at a very low level. You basically had to put your ear on his chest to hear anything at all. He wasn’t “talkative” like many cats are…and, like taciturn humans, his paucity of “speech” made you listen more carefully when he “spoke”.
I called him “Rammer.” He had the feline love of edges, rubbing his head on anything sharp or hard. I accommodated him. We developed a ritual. I would find things to rub his cat skull with. He loved the handle part of a pair of Fiskars scissors. The hub from a 50-CD stack was another fave. Pens and pencils. DAT tape containers.
When you live with a person—and Cloyd was a person—for 19 years, you get to know them. Cloyd talked to me, and I to him. I knew what he liked, what he disliked, what he wanted, what was wrong. I gained a sixth sense that enabled me to detect when his bladder was blocked and rush him to the vet.
What can you say about a cat that you loved and who has died? Cloyd was a good and true friend, a faithful companion, a joy, and a nuisance. I’d be much richer—in dollars—if I’d never met him, but much poorer—in spirit—if I had not. He was a good cat. A much better cat than I am a person. Ten thousand dollars? I’d have gladly spent sixty thousand, if it’d given him relief and a few more years.
So now I am left with Ringo, a second fiddle who is suddenly first. But it is not the same, without the big old curmudgeonly bachelor cat – who so resembled me in temperament.
I am going to miss Mr. Cloyd for a long time. I feel his lack as an aching absence that I will never get used to. I will grieve over him as I would over any family member. And as long as I live, he will live in my mind. It is my fond hope that his soul and mine might again meet, on the other side. If there is a Heaven, he is bound for it. My own destination is less certain. But I wouldn’t mind a bit, if the Lord would permit me to share eternity with my friend Cloyd the Cat.
I've said something similar but it was not original.
From The Wicker Man, Lord Summerisle, played by Christopher Lee (now starring on the $20 bill):
"I think I could turn and live with animals. They are so placid and self-contained. They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one of them kneels to another or to his own kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one of them is respectable or unhappy, all over the earth."
--Boris
I lost a 19 year old cat in '99 whom I'd had as a kitten so I can empathize.
You gave Cloyd a long and wonderful life he would not have had if it hadn't been for your love and care.
God bless you.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
Author unknown...
With my deepest condolences.
Suzanne
No . . . I often visit Dailypetphoto.com and just remembered this kitties sad face. Yours must be a beauty!
Yes, she was. She passed away last month, but she was a joy. She adopted me sixteen years ago... my pillow just isn't the same without her!
Isn't it interesting how cats know what's going on? When my P Bear passed away last month, Phoebe (aged 10) wouldn't leave her side for the last two days she was alive. After P Bear left us Phoebe moped around the bedroom for days, looking for her friend. She now has adopted P Bear's spot on my pillow as hers, and has taken over as my "groomer".
It is. It's also interesting how Jumper completely ignored me for 9 years, then became inseparable from me when Missy was dying. She still spends a lot of time with me, even 3 years later.
I'm sorry about your P Bear. I hope she had a long life with you; the ones whose lives are cut short are always the hardest to lose.
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