Posted on 01/07/2011 3:01:43 PM PST by nickcarraway
I can still picture the morning I was sitting with a dozen mewing kittens at the animal shelter in Brewster. There was a slight movement between two pillows on the far side of the cage. That's where I found Eddie. He was on his back trying to get some sleep "in this lousy joint," as I imagined an independent cat like him would say.
He was a plain gray tabby, as common as a housefly.
"He's the one," I said to my husband, Bob.
Eddie swaggered to the food bowl, pushing four kittens out of the way.
"He's so ratty," Bob said, picking him up. "And he only has one whisker."
Eddie tenderly pressed his face against mine. Then he put his sharp baby teeth around my gold earring and yanked with the strength of a sumo wrestler.
Eddie had chutzpah and he knew how to use it.
That first night home, he was restless. I calmed him with a song from the musical "Oliver!" I sang it softly, as a slow ballad, "Food, glorious food, hot sausage and mustard." He closed his eyes and purred. From then on, that song always soothed him.
Eddie got up before we did. I knew that from the sound of breaking glass.
We found him on the mantel where my Sydenstricker glass plate used to be. The floor was covered with glass shards. He quickly put his paw behind a blue china vase and chucked that off the mantel, too.
At first I felt bad. But that didn't last. Things are just things. Our pets are family.
While we were sleeping, Eddie bit our earlobes, toes and fingers. He preferred protruding parts. Imagine what poor Bob endured.
When we'd watch TV in bed, he'd scratch us for attention. Eventually I learned that there are times when family, friends or pets are more important than TV. And when are those times? Always.
Years ago, I was on the phone with a rabbi. He asked about my mother's interests for his sermon at her funeral. I said, "Mom loved painting and ..."
That's when Eddie came running in with something in his mouth. He had opened the new box of tampons I bought that morning. He started flinging the tampon in the air like it was a toy mouse.
I couldn't stop laughing. The rabbi assumed I was having a traumatic stress reaction and said, "When we lose a loved one, we're often not in control of our emotions and that's OK. It's fine to laugh."
That cracked me up even more. I managed to blurt out, "She made jewelry!" before seeing the tampon go flying across the room. Then I hung up — on a rabbi yet. Oy vay.
Eddie opened cabinets by putting his paws around the knobs. Vitamin bottles made great rattling noises upon crash landings.
We bought childproof magnets at the hardware store. Eddie simply tugged a little harder.
Back to the hardware store for hook-and-eye locks. Eddie flipped the hooks open with one paw.
Back to the hardware store for deadbolt locks. He easily slid those bolts to the side.
The guy at the hardware store already had combination locks on the counter.
Eddie came into my life when, because of an illness, I needed to learn a lot from him. And I did.
To Eddie, obstacles were challenges. When barriers thwarted him, he never quit trying. Words like "can't" and "hopeless" were only beliefs. Beliefs can be changed.
For the past two years, Eddie had been sick. I spent lots of time massaging his face — he always loved that. One afternoon, I used my fingers to comb through the lovely set of whiskers he'd eventually grown. That's when I discovered the side-effect from the medicine he was taking. As I gently rubbed along his face, his whiskers came off, all but one. I placed them in a tiny needlepoint purse my mother made for me.
He came into our lives with one whisker. And that is how he would leave.
Three months ago, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I kissed his forehead and whispered, "I love you." He looked up at me. His face showed the love he was never successful at hiding.
As Bob softly sang, "Food, glorious food, hot sausage and mustard," Eddie took his last breath.
While his body was still warm, I cradled him in my arms and rocked him. I held his head so he was nestled against my neck. "Eddie, you will always be a part of me." I didn't want to let him go from my arms. But Bob, so lovingly and slowly, gently took him away.
And so, I honor the life of my wonderful cat who, from the beginning, stood apart from all the others. My beautiful cat, my Eddie, just a plain gray tabby, as common as a housefly.
Saralee Perel is a retired psychotherapist. Her column appears the first Friday of the month. You can reach her at 508-428-8676 or sperel@saraleeperel.com. Her website is www.saraleeperel.com.
I really do.
How many of you have listened to Mark Levin speak of his dogs such as Sprite (His book: Saving Sprite) or Griffin who passed away December 19th, 2010. It brings tears to my eyes, and I'm sure to may of your eyes as well.
In my home we have three cats. The oldest, ‘Oslo’ (a shortened version of his full name) was found in a field when he was no more than nine months old. We took him in because it was November and the first snowfall of the season was falling. He was semi ferrel, but if we did not take him in he surely would have perished. What a kind and friendly feline he is.
Our other two cats are from our shelter and we are happy to have them.
The Original Posters story rings true with me as our ‘old boy’ - Oslo is getting rather feeble.
He contracted diabetes before he was one and we have been testing and injecting him with insulin for more than a decade.
The diabetes is taking its toll, but we sure love the little bugger.
It will be a sad day when he passes, but we know that we have done all that we can for him.
I apologize for this, but I think you all - well MOST OF YOU - can understand.
Thanks nickcarraway for your post, and to all of you dog, cat and America lovers who thought nickcarraway's post was wonderful.
If you hold no such power, and it can’t happen for hating cats, then why are you implying it? With a grin no less?
Your opinion of cats is duly noted. Now, please leave this thread to those who think otherwise. Thanks.
As the original post said, your “behavior” on this thread indicates that you won’t be here long. And when you are zotted, a Viking Kitty will do it.
No cats jokes!
Meow King restaurant
Shame on you for removing my post, #12 on this thread.
What’s wrong with you?
Something’s wrong w/my monitor too.
God Bless You, Squeaky; I miss you so much!
We adopted a street kitten in 94 who is still with us, never imagined she’d be around this long. She can hardly jump anymore and is totally deaf, and part of me will die when she does.
I used to have a Maine Coon that shunned everyone except me, except when he heard someone cry, particularly children. He would become affectionate with anyone who cried.
I have another Maine Coon that loves to walk on a leash and greats people at the door.
I have an ancient domestic shorthair who used to play "fetch" with a ball. Now she's a bit too old for that.
You have the manners of vermin and the personality of parasitic fungus. Do you spend your spare time visiting the cancer ward mocking terminally ill patients?
Profanity, and directed at another poster.
That is against 2 Free Republic rules.
No profanity, no personal attacks.
I understand EXACTLY what you’re saying :(
I LIKE you!
That's gotta be one of the funniest, wittiest remarks I've seen on this site! I'm still laughing! Well done.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/chat/2653196/posts?page=51#51
Thank you, all. I was just trying to avoid a moderator comment like this one at post #51.
In the interest of full disclosure, I have, on occasion, called offensive posters “Butt Monkey.” I only do so when they richly deserve it.
Ouch, should have known how it was gonna end.
I have my 14 y.o. Mouser on my lap. When I got the lump in my throat, I got a ‘biscuit claw’ on the leg and yellow eyes lookin’ at me...
When it comes time, I don’t want it to be in a coldass country vet office: I want it to be here at her place...
Nothing wrong with that. I’ve been guilty of calling certain deserving posters “gigantic, painful, suppurating pustules on the arse of humanity”, but only two or three times over 12 years, and only when THEY richly deserved it.
I like you, too!
I’m sure you do, exactly. Some people scoff at strong attachments to animals but tell that to my kids - she came before they did and they don’t know life without her.
Although she is my cat much more than anyone else’s. About one year into our marriage my husband got a job in Manhattan so I said, fine, we’ll move to the city but we are getting a cat. She was so skittish (rescued from the street in Queens) that she basically stayed under the kitchen table for 2 weeks, so I did too. Until she mellowed with age, she distrusted most other people. Because of her attachment to me but being so stand-offish otherwise, we were a bit concerned over how she would handle our first baby. But that first afternoon our daughter was home and crying, Bud scratched my leg and yowled like a siamese, as if to say, HEY! Take care of the baby! :) And she was maternal out of nowhere from then on, loving toward all 3 of our kids.
Other than her ears and her diminished jumping, she’s in great health, still plays, beautiful fur, good appetite, so she’s probably just going to shock me and die in her sleep one of these days and I will never completely recover. She’s been a treasure.
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