(no subject)
Mango Stark Fordham
1995-2011
I lost my best friend today. I looked into his eyes, scratching him behind his ears, trying to smile through my tears as he took his last breath. His bed, the blanket he used for years, his favorite toys, his brush, his leash he used all his life on his hikes, and his carrier now all sit in the corner. I have pictures and so many good memories… I just thought I would have more time. It hasn’t truly sunk in yet that he’s gone. 16 years...
There will never be another cat like Mango. He loved car rides. We would take him with us when we were running short errands and he would stand on the arm rest and peer out the window. He hiked trails. Every year he would go to Cheaha State Park so he could walk the trail and sit in his favorite tree near the edge of the bluff. I will never forget our most recent walks through the neighborhood where he would walk freely at my side. He would roll in the pine straw and we would stop and smell all the flowers along the way. He was always so affectionate, my beautiful boy.
I cleaned out the medicine cabinet earlier. He was on so many medications. But he was happy up until the end. I believe that to be true. This past year we’ve hardly been apart, but now I have to learn to live without him. I will love him forever.
Below are pictures to help celebrate his memory.
The Early Years:
Mango and baby Nami:
Mango with little Ridley:
Mango as a part of mine and Tom's wedding:
Mango with the kittens, including Cooke:
When Mango came to AWA in 2009:
The last pictures I have of him:
Something I wrote a while ago:
He’s fast asleep, curled up by my side, moaning softly with each breath, old age beginning to take its toll. I stroke Mango’s side and my hand sinks into inches of thick, caramel striped orange fur, as his moans transform into labored purrs. My eyes tear as my mind wanders over thoughts of future days without my constant companion as he gazes at me contently with half-opened golden eyes, but I remember when those eyes still shone blue and bright and there was a bounce in his step rather than a limp. He’d pounce from room to room, discovering a playmate in every inanimate object, as he danced in the warm afternoon sunrays beaming in from the kitchen windows.
But now, nine years later he stretches out flashing the worn pads of his paws, scarred from when he jumped on top of the burning stove on a cold December night years ago. But those pink paws remind me most of his mountain hiking days. When we were young it was a family Thanksgiving tradition to visit Cheaha State Park in the Appalachian Mountains. I’d strap Mango nice and tight into his green harness and set him down on the rocky mountain trail. His eyes would be round, darting back and forth, taking in all the sparkling granite and knotted trees, his feathery tail perked up, body swaying from side to side as he pranced, pulling me down the winding path towards the bluff, our breath crystallizing in the air as we went along. Suddenly the trees along the path would thin and the whole world would open up to us as we reached the jagged edge of the mountain, hovering thousands of feet above the brush stroked trees. I would lay down on a cool slab of granite, exhilaratingly close to the edge, enjoying the fresh air rushing up from the valley. Mango would stand next to me, fully alert, as he watched the cars crawl by like ants in the distance. The mountain air would brush through his ginger hair, his body silhouetted by the sun, backed by nothing but blue skies.
1995-2011
I lost my best friend today. I looked into his eyes, scratching him behind his ears, trying to smile through my tears as he took his last breath. His bed, the blanket he used for years, his favorite toys, his brush, his leash he used all his life on his hikes, and his carrier now all sit in the corner. I have pictures and so many good memories… I just thought I would have more time. It hasn’t truly sunk in yet that he’s gone. 16 years...
There will never be another cat like Mango. He loved car rides. We would take him with us when we were running short errands and he would stand on the arm rest and peer out the window. He hiked trails. Every year he would go to Cheaha State Park so he could walk the trail and sit in his favorite tree near the edge of the bluff. I will never forget our most recent walks through the neighborhood where he would walk freely at my side. He would roll in the pine straw and we would stop and smell all the flowers along the way. He was always so affectionate, my beautiful boy.
I cleaned out the medicine cabinet earlier. He was on so many medications. But he was happy up until the end. I believe that to be true. This past year we’ve hardly been apart, but now I have to learn to live without him. I will love him forever.
Below are pictures to help celebrate his memory.
The Early Years:
Mango and baby Nami:
Mango with little Ridley:
Mango as a part of mine and Tom's wedding:
Mango with the kittens, including Cooke:
When Mango came to AWA in 2009:
The last pictures I have of him:
Something I wrote a while ago:
He’s fast asleep, curled up by my side, moaning softly with each breath, old age beginning to take its toll. I stroke Mango’s side and my hand sinks into inches of thick, caramel striped orange fur, as his moans transform into labored purrs. My eyes tear as my mind wanders over thoughts of future days without my constant companion as he gazes at me contently with half-opened golden eyes, but I remember when those eyes still shone blue and bright and there was a bounce in his step rather than a limp. He’d pounce from room to room, discovering a playmate in every inanimate object, as he danced in the warm afternoon sunrays beaming in from the kitchen windows.
But now, nine years later he stretches out flashing the worn pads of his paws, scarred from when he jumped on top of the burning stove on a cold December night years ago. But those pink paws remind me most of his mountain hiking days. When we were young it was a family Thanksgiving tradition to visit Cheaha State Park in the Appalachian Mountains. I’d strap Mango nice and tight into his green harness and set him down on the rocky mountain trail. His eyes would be round, darting back and forth, taking in all the sparkling granite and knotted trees, his feathery tail perked up, body swaying from side to side as he pranced, pulling me down the winding path towards the bluff, our breath crystallizing in the air as we went along. Suddenly the trees along the path would thin and the whole world would open up to us as we reached the jagged edge of the mountain, hovering thousands of feet above the brush stroked trees. I would lay down on a cool slab of granite, exhilaratingly close to the edge, enjoying the fresh air rushing up from the valley. Mango would stand next to me, fully alert, as he watched the cars crawl by like ants in the distance. The mountain air would brush through his ginger hair, his body silhouetted by the sun, backed by nothing but blue skies.