He'da Bump
When he came to us, he had a meow more like a duck's quack
than anything I'd ever have thought might come out of a cat,
if you had asked me
He had been left behind in a foreclosed home when the former owners moved out
3 months locked away with no sign of food left behind,
The only water in a toilet the lid had been left up on,
And there were signs that he had been chewing on the drywall where corners stuck out
They estimated his age at somewhere around 8 years, but they couldn't be sure
He was in renal failure, and,
unlike any other cat we've fostered during our association with Animal Friends Rescue Project,
They sent him to us not so much to take care of him, per se,
as to know that he was somewhere he could die comfortably,
Saying he probably had at most about a couple of weeks left in him
They called him Garfield, for reasons not explained and we didn't ask-
He is orange, but his stripes are white, not black,
And from more than 10 feet away it blends together into a sort of yellowish,
And besides after 3 months he was not much but skin and bone,
Frail, fragile, voice worn from repeated cries...
We cannot know how he was treated,
or what he was like before his ordeal,
But from how he would shy away sometimes if my hand approached too fast when I went to pet him,
I can guess he was maybe afraid of being struck,
And yet for us he has been just The Sweetest. Guy. EVAR.
We called him Mister.
I didn't see much more of him than a darting shadow for the first 3 days.
This would change.
As he grew accustomed to us, it turned out that he could be quite affectionate,
And so his name was lengthened to Mister Bump, and then to Mister Bump Purr Kitteh,
Which was sometimes shortened to Bump.
He would wait for me to get home from work-
'Wait' was not always the right word-
he was not particularly patient beyond a certain point, and
He expected me to be home at a certain time,
Usually half an hour or more earlier than I would actually get there,
And he would go to the door and call for me;
When I did get home, he would bump up against me, maybe want to be fed,
Then he would get up on the bed and demand that I join him for some snuggling together.
Loudly. More than once. And it was me he wanted,
And it had to be there, and
He did not want to be picked up, and no petting anywhere else counted for anything.
If my girlfriend tried to cuddle with him in place of me,
and anytime, not just when I got home,
He would get down from the bed almost immediately
And wander around, still crying.
It has been more than 4 years.
I have complained on occasion of the time spent making him happy when he demanded my company,
Particularly when it turned out to be the precursor to an unintended nap, but
The truth is I didn't mind that much, and
There are dogs who are less loyal, less loving, to their masters,
Even if he does express it a bit differently than they would.
He has had his ups and downs, but it has been 4 years- a lot more than 2 weeks.
Right now, he is lying in a bed that Mary Beth has fixed up for him,
Set up on the foot of our own bed
(Which gave me a start when I got back home from a bit of out & about,
Because it started out down on the floor in front of one of the dressers),
We have always known him delicate, but now
His mew has become a newborn's squeak,
He cannot stand up on his own-
He was still trying to walk yesterday, but
It was more like he was swimming his body along the floor
(It's a good thing that it's wood-
I don't think he wouldn't have been able to do that on carpet)
For a while he has acted as if he had forgotten where he was going
about halfway along the way of getting there, sometimes-
We're pretty sure his hearing went, or finished going, about a month ago,
And I haven't been so sure just how well he was seeing anymore, anyway, lately-
But this, apparently- she has said several times that he might yet rally,
he has done so in the past, more than once,
But he's never been this bad off, either,
And this rather looks like it is finally IT...
And I am about worn out of crying and feeling sad, but it could be worse-
He could be already gone
I took a break from typing a few minutes ago to go sit beside him and pet him a bit
He was crying, and he tried to stand up, but he's so weak
She thinks he might have had a stroke sometime yesterday or the day before,
And she gives him some water with the eyedropper
He stopped eating a couple of days ago
I do not and will not wish that he be dead instead of having to go through this with him,
But it is hard
I am trying to hold on to the fact that
Every day, every single day, has been a miracle,
Something far beyond what could be hoped for- much less expected-
I can only hope, for as long as he is conscious enough to know anything
and for it to make a difference,
That somehow he knows that he is amongst friends, and loved,
That his spirit does not depart wandering lonely and confused...
I love you, Bump. You have blessed us many times over.
You were, you have been, you are, the bestest little guy ever.
than anything I'd ever have thought might come out of a cat,
if you had asked me
He had been left behind in a foreclosed home when the former owners moved out
3 months locked away with no sign of food left behind,
The only water in a toilet the lid had been left up on,
And there were signs that he had been chewing on the drywall where corners stuck out
They estimated his age at somewhere around 8 years, but they couldn't be sure
He was in renal failure, and,
unlike any other cat we've fostered during our association with Animal Friends Rescue Project,
They sent him to us not so much to take care of him, per se,
as to know that he was somewhere he could die comfortably,
Saying he probably had at most about a couple of weeks left in him
They called him Garfield, for reasons not explained and we didn't ask-
He is orange, but his stripes are white, not black,
And from more than 10 feet away it blends together into a sort of yellowish,
And besides after 3 months he was not much but skin and bone,
Frail, fragile, voice worn from repeated cries...
We cannot know how he was treated,
or what he was like before his ordeal,
But from how he would shy away sometimes if my hand approached too fast when I went to pet him,
I can guess he was maybe afraid of being struck,
And yet for us he has been just The Sweetest. Guy. EVAR.
We called him Mister.
I didn't see much more of him than a darting shadow for the first 3 days.
This would change.
As he grew accustomed to us, it turned out that he could be quite affectionate,
And so his name was lengthened to Mister Bump, and then to Mister Bump Purr Kitteh,
Which was sometimes shortened to Bump.
He would wait for me to get home from work-
'Wait' was not always the right word-
he was not particularly patient beyond a certain point, and
He expected me to be home at a certain time,
Usually half an hour or more earlier than I would actually get there,
And he would go to the door and call for me;
When I did get home, he would bump up against me, maybe want to be fed,
Then he would get up on the bed and demand that I join him for some snuggling together.
Loudly. More than once. And it was me he wanted,
And it had to be there, and
He did not want to be picked up, and no petting anywhere else counted for anything.
If my girlfriend tried to cuddle with him in place of me,
and anytime, not just when I got home,
He would get down from the bed almost immediately
And wander around, still crying.
It has been more than 4 years.
I have complained on occasion of the time spent making him happy when he demanded my company,
Particularly when it turned out to be the precursor to an unintended nap, but
The truth is I didn't mind that much, and
There are dogs who are less loyal, less loving, to their masters,
Even if he does express it a bit differently than they would.
He has had his ups and downs, but it has been 4 years- a lot more than 2 weeks.
Right now, he is lying in a bed that Mary Beth has fixed up for him,
Set up on the foot of our own bed
(Which gave me a start when I got back home from a bit of out & about,
Because it started out down on the floor in front of one of the dressers),
We have always known him delicate, but now
His mew has become a newborn's squeak,
He cannot stand up on his own-
He was still trying to walk yesterday, but
It was more like he was swimming his body along the floor
(It's a good thing that it's wood-
I don't think he wouldn't have been able to do that on carpet)
For a while he has acted as if he had forgotten where he was going
about halfway along the way of getting there, sometimes-
We're pretty sure his hearing went, or finished going, about a month ago,
And I haven't been so sure just how well he was seeing anymore, anyway, lately-
But this, apparently- she has said several times that he might yet rally,
he has done so in the past, more than once,
But he's never been this bad off, either,
And this rather looks like it is finally IT...
And I am about worn out of crying and feeling sad, but it could be worse-
He could be already gone
I took a break from typing a few minutes ago to go sit beside him and pet him a bit
He was crying, and he tried to stand up, but he's so weak
She thinks he might have had a stroke sometime yesterday or the day before,
And she gives him some water with the eyedropper
He stopped eating a couple of days ago
I do not and will not wish that he be dead instead of having to go through this with him,
But it is hard
I am trying to hold on to the fact that
Every day, every single day, has been a miracle,
Something far beyond what could be hoped for- much less expected-
I can only hope, for as long as he is conscious enough to know anything
and for it to make a difference,
That somehow he knows that he is amongst friends, and loved,
That his spirit does not depart wandering lonely and confused...
I love you, Bump. You have blessed us many times over.
You were, you have been, you are, the bestest little guy ever.