From light to night
My first act this morning, upon being awakened by my housemate, was to sit next to my dear baby Miranda and hold her while she suffered through a convulsion. They had started earlier this morning and the three of us, Reyes, Tomm and myself, were preparing to take her into the hospital. She was unresponsive, could barely move, wasn't eating.
My second act of the morning was to sit with my baby girl, who lived a very good 14 years, I must add, while we drove her to the hospital. There was another convulsion and there was absolutely nothing I could do. I just only whisper to her, tell her everything was going to be okay and let her know she wasn’t alone.
Act three was to hold her, caress her, whisper and cluck to her as they administered the drugs that put her to sleep one final time. Unlike Chloe, who we put to sleep just two short weeks ago, Miranda simply and quietly took a last breath and that was that. No fuss. No last gasp at life. Just a quiet goodbye.
This past year has been positively ruthless. But, here's the thing. While I remember Chloe as a vindictive bitch who had her moments of tenderness and humor, as all cats must by nature have, Miranda will always be the crazy weirdo who lives beneath the kitchen cabinets, hides in the darkest corners, never comes out during daylight and races to the sprinkler heads in the morning as they shoot on to catch a drink...or the crazy white Calico who jumps into the shower while it was running.
That was my fault, actually. When Reyes brought Miranda to me (while I was at work, managing a Blockbuster Music way back in 1995), she literally fit in the palm of his hand. Her eyes weren't open yet and she looked absolutely pathetic and adorable and perfect. We fed her those first weeks with an eye dropper, as the cats in our household at the time weren't overly fond of each other as it was. We bathed her in the sink, letting the warm water flow over her and keep her clean. I'm pretty sure that's where her fascination with faucets came from. And her need to drink from them, versus from a bowl.
For every household move I made, and there have been dozens since 1995, Miranda has managed to come along, finding the closets and cabinets to hide in. Her meows were odd sounding things, almost as if she had no idea how to do it (and probably didn't). She was loveable and had no problem sleeping with anyone on the bed. Unfortunately, I am allergic to cats and having them close up to me causes my sinuses and eyes to just go haywire. In any event, for the past 15 years, Miranda has been a wonderful part of my life.
My final acts this morning, as far as Miranda has been concerned, were to carry her home in my lap, covered in her towel to keep the sunlight out of her vacant eyes (she really did dislike the sun) and to dig her grave in the back yard. Tonight, when the sun goes down, I shall lay her down on the dark one last time. I shall cover her in the heaviness of night, where she felt most comfortable and I shall both thank and curse the gods for bringing this precious soul into my life and taking her away from me.
Reyes swears he will never bring another pet into the house again. The sadness and pain of loss is too much to deal with. I know better. If there is a kitty that needs to be saved or needs a home, that kitty will be welcomed with open arms. It might be a while, it might never be. It could be tomorrow. Regardless, Miranda was my baby and to ignore any other poor soul just because I fear losing her (or him, or them) to that which we all must succumb to one day...well...that would be dishonorable and just plain wrong.
Miranda, my little girl, I miss you more than you will ever now. Thank you for the gifts you gave me and may you hunt the night like a shadow. You will never be forgotten. I love you.
My second act of the morning was to sit with my baby girl, who lived a very good 14 years, I must add, while we drove her to the hospital. There was another convulsion and there was absolutely nothing I could do. I just only whisper to her, tell her everything was going to be okay and let her know she wasn’t alone.
Act three was to hold her, caress her, whisper and cluck to her as they administered the drugs that put her to sleep one final time. Unlike Chloe, who we put to sleep just two short weeks ago, Miranda simply and quietly took a last breath and that was that. No fuss. No last gasp at life. Just a quiet goodbye.
This past year has been positively ruthless. But, here's the thing. While I remember Chloe as a vindictive bitch who had her moments of tenderness and humor, as all cats must by nature have, Miranda will always be the crazy weirdo who lives beneath the kitchen cabinets, hides in the darkest corners, never comes out during daylight and races to the sprinkler heads in the morning as they shoot on to catch a drink...or the crazy white Calico who jumps into the shower while it was running.
That was my fault, actually. When Reyes brought Miranda to me (while I was at work, managing a Blockbuster Music way back in 1995), she literally fit in the palm of his hand. Her eyes weren't open yet and she looked absolutely pathetic and adorable and perfect. We fed her those first weeks with an eye dropper, as the cats in our household at the time weren't overly fond of each other as it was. We bathed her in the sink, letting the warm water flow over her and keep her clean. I'm pretty sure that's where her fascination with faucets came from. And her need to drink from them, versus from a bowl.
For every household move I made, and there have been dozens since 1995, Miranda has managed to come along, finding the closets and cabinets to hide in. Her meows were odd sounding things, almost as if she had no idea how to do it (and probably didn't). She was loveable and had no problem sleeping with anyone on the bed. Unfortunately, I am allergic to cats and having them close up to me causes my sinuses and eyes to just go haywire. In any event, for the past 15 years, Miranda has been a wonderful part of my life.
My final acts this morning, as far as Miranda has been concerned, were to carry her home in my lap, covered in her towel to keep the sunlight out of her vacant eyes (she really did dislike the sun) and to dig her grave in the back yard. Tonight, when the sun goes down, I shall lay her down on the dark one last time. I shall cover her in the heaviness of night, where she felt most comfortable and I shall both thank and curse the gods for bringing this precious soul into my life and taking her away from me.
Reyes swears he will never bring another pet into the house again. The sadness and pain of loss is too much to deal with. I know better. If there is a kitty that needs to be saved or needs a home, that kitty will be welcomed with open arms. It might be a while, it might never be. It could be tomorrow. Regardless, Miranda was my baby and to ignore any other poor soul just because I fear losing her (or him, or them) to that which we all must succumb to one day...well...that would be dishonorable and just plain wrong.
Miranda, my little girl, I miss you more than you will ever now. Thank you for the gifts you gave me and may you hunt the night like a shadow. You will never be forgotten. I love you.