I said goodbye to a very good friend today.
I've written here about the grief of a pet passing, of the moment of signing the death verdict at the vet's office, and the residual grief that accompanies the last act of kindness a pet owner can do for his/her companion, so I won't rehash it now. Despite all of what I've written and felt, though, it doesn't get any easier.
He was old. Seventeen and a half years old, which is pretty good for a housecat who started life on the streets. My wife saved him, actually wrestled him out of the arms of another potential owner, and the joy he gave us was perhaps his way of saying thanks. He lived through six apartments and houses, outlived two of our three other pets, and never once scratched or bit. He was there for the birth of both of my kids, tolerated them with saintly grace, and never once failed to get the occasional mouse that wandered into either of our houses. He sat with us when we were sad, entertained us with numerous rounds of "night crazies," and gave as much affection as he could. He was a prince. And I will miss him.
I think I'll miss him more for what he said about me as a male in the house, since it was always him and I representing the gender in a house full of females. He taught me about patience and dignity, about caring for others and putting up with the capricious nature of life. He taught me how to defend my family ( a funny story for another time) and how to be reflective and calm. His last lesson was about dying. As I held him and we both waited for the sedative to take hold, he purred and snuggled up against me. And, as he faded away, he gently put his head against my arm and sort of breathed a big sigh, almost of relief (at least I'd like to think it was that). He was stoic until the end, this gentle giant who had withered away to almost nothing, and I had to think that over the last few months there was more grace in him than in lots of people I know who suffer with much less.
I had joked for awhile that I hoped to emulate my old friend when I was his age (in human years), as he simply slept all day and had people feed him and clean up after him (as well as clean him), and now I feel that even more. It must have been hell for him to not be able to do what he had always done, to let his once meticulously cleaned body fall into a smelly mess of cat litter and dread locks, yet he bore whatever ill came to him with style and poise. I hope that I have as much class.
I know this is another sad pet story, but I have absolutely no choice. He was there for my family from the start, and for that I am grateful. We all need to have that kind of love in our lives, and I was lucky for his. So I have to write this, I just have to.
I owe him this much.
