cats

My Beau

April 25, 2018 by Nancy 24 Comments

He had me at hello. From the moment I took him out of the cage at the adoption center at PetSmart and he wrapped his front paws around my neck and snuggled his head under my chin, I knew he was my cat. What I didn’t know was that he was a one-woman cat, and I would be his woman.

At PetSmart his name was Jellybean, but that just didn’t seem to fit. I had gone cat shopping because I read an article that a solo cat might become depressed. I’d looked over at our cat, Molly, and assessed she was. What she needed was a beau! So Jellybean became Beau Brummett.

As it turned out, the two cats never really bonded, and truth be told, Beau bullied Molly a bit. But for 13 years they enjoyed one another’s company from a distance, established their own rules about whose couch was whose, and had a workable détente.

We had to let go of Beau three weeks ago, and I’m just now able to write about him. It’s been a heartbreaking loss, not just because I loved him, but because he loved me so completely and so unconditionally, and there was nothing I could do to save him. The third round of cancer was too much for all of us. He was only fourteen and a half so it seemed too soon to see him go, yet it was time.

This won’t be one of those tributes touting perfection, however. Beau’s biggest character flaw was that he was afraid of small children, possibly the victim of being carried around in a neck hold by a toddler before we adopted him. As a result, he was labeled “the mean cat” by all of our grandkids because if he couldn’t avoid them, he hissed at them. I know their parents wondered why we kept him around.

We did because of who he was the rest of time. Part Maine Coon, Beau came when called, was trainable, and loyal beyond description. He was the most excellent of cats in terms of his cat-like characteristics. Curious to a fault, he got shut up in the pantry more than once while checking out the supply of cat food. He would be the first to jump into an empty box and found Christmas boxes especially fascinating.

And he was a quick learner. Just one leap off the second-story deck in an attempt to catch a hummingbird and he decided not to do that again!

He was the most affectionate animal I’ve ever been around. Often he would come up to me and put his front paws on my legs, look up at me with those big golden eyes, and want me to pick him up. I was putty in his paws, so most of the time when I was home he was in my arms, perched over my shoulder, or on my lap—even when I was at the computer.

We had two official snuggle times, right before my husband Jim and I went to sleep and first thing in the morning. He never missed one of them, and usually waited in the hallway from about 9:30 PM on to remind me it was time to go snuggle. Any wonder my arms have felt achingly empty? (Jim reminds me that he is willing to snuggle any time, but apologizes for not being fuzzy enough!)

I don’t know what else to say. I miss him. It hurts. I’ve always been sensitive to the grief people feel when losing a pet, but will be even more so now. I don’t want to compare this in any way to the deeper grief of losing a family member or close friend, but I did lose a close and loving companion. No doubt about it.

I’ve cried my way through three PetSmarts and the Humane Society where I went just to visit the cats. I don’t know why. There isn’t a cat alive who could replace Beau, and I know that. Besides it’s too soon to even try to love another cat. Somehow I just had to look.

And while Molly won’t snuggle (please! she just can’t be bothered) her “personal assistant” purr-sonality has her following me all over the house, and she is blossoming now that the whole house is hers. We love her, too, and she deserves to be queen for a while.

When I was praying over Beau for healing, and yes I did, I heard the Lord remind me, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” To comfort me in my grief, He’s whispered, “Think of what a great gift he was to you, not what a great loss you feel now.” OK, Lord, I’ll try. But he was my buddy. My Beau.

To those readers who think they don’t like cats, may I say it’s just like any other bias. Get to know just one well, and you will change your opinion.

Pet Chronicles

August 29, 2016 by Nancy 20 Comments

How we love our pets. I don’t know if it was the expression on my face or the tears welling up in my eyes that tipped off the total stranger sitting in the waiting room with her dog. I just know that as I was leaving the vet’s office after dropping off my cat Beau for surgery, she leaped up to give me a hug, and soon I was crying on her shoulder sobbing, “It’s just so hard to leave him here.”

Beau had a gross looking sore on one of his hind feet. The vet wisely decided the best plan of action was to amputate his toe and send the whole mess to the lab for evaluation. The test came back positive for a low grade cancer, so taking the toe was the right decision and gives him a good chance at survival. Still, as I dropped him off that morning you would have thought I was the one having an amputation.

My concern for Beau started me thinking about all the pets I have loved in my lifetime. I remember each one so clearly because each one still occupies a place in my heart. You, too?

The first dog I can remember was a brown and white spotted, mid-sized mutt named Sally. She had the brightest brown eyes, the pinkest tongue, and the curliest tail you’ll ever see—and I loved her so much. Sally was just one more of the playmates my sisters and I had when we played hopscotch or jumped rope. She was always with us and always up for a romp. Over the years we also had a collie named Prince, a cocker named Prissy, and a cat named Cocomo. How I remember each one.

As a newlywed in the sixties my first “baby” was a miniature dachshund named Sebastian. This is the dog I dressed up in baby clothes while awaiting the birth of my first son because he weighed seven pounds and I thought I could practice on him! He’s also the dog that was so jealous once the baby came that he lifted his leg all around the bottom of the changing-table skirt I had painstakingly made. In so many ways Sebastian was just too smart to be a dog, but he was funny and affectionate and my heart still leaps whenever I see a mini-dachshund.

Two more dogs followed. Gorgeous light golden retrievers named Lady and Lad. Lad was Lady’s puppy. She gave birth to 11 puppies, but I was on the phone with the vet after 10 had been born and he told me to bring her in for a check-up. I called her and she obeyed, dropping puppy number eleven out on his head.

I have a feeling that was Lad, because as one vet said, “He’s about as bright as a billiard ball!” Lady was brighter, however, and both dogs were loyal and lovable. They were my jogging partners during a difficult time in my life. After Lady and Lad, I haven’t had the heart to get another dog. The holes they left just seem too large to fill.

Naively, I thought cats might be less of an emotional investment. Wrong. My son Tim convinced me to adopt a calico cat we named Callie. Next we adopted two kittens I named Kate and Allie after my favorite TV sitcom at the time. After a trip to the vet, we had to change Allie’s name to Al because she was a he! When Kate escaped one night and didn’t make it home, she was replaced by Betsy—a calico barn cat whose meow was stuck in her throat. We had Al and Betsy for 14 years and losing them was heartbreaking.

So it took almost a year before we adopted Molly, a sweet grayish cat we’ve had for 12 years now. I read an article that said a single cat might become depressed, so a few months later we adopted Beau. That’s when Molly really became depressed! Unlike Al and Betsy who curled up together daily, these two cats barely tolerate one another, but both are wonderful companions.

I think we grieve the loss of our pets so deeply when they go because they are so much a part of our daily lives. They need us, and we need them. In fact, I can’t imagine my life without a clever, comforting, entertaining cat in it. One adage reads, “Every life has nine cats.” Husband beware. It looks like I’m only up to seven. Two more to go to secure my crazy cat lady status!

I give myself permission to love my pets as I do because they, too, are God’s creatures given to us to care for and enjoy. Psalm 36:6 says, O Lord, you preserve both man and beast. Psalm 150:6 reads, Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Our pets have breath. Dare we believe they also have souls and will greet us in heaven? Theologians may disagree, but I’ll just wait and see. Meanwhile, I’ll just love on the two I have. Or do they have me?

A Moving Experience: Part One

July 28, 2015 by Nancy 15 Comments

It really happened. A large moving van arrived at our house the middle of June and the men loaded up what was left of our belongings after the two-day garage sale, the bulging boxes shipped to family members, and the donations. Then they took it all away. We moved.

My guess is, you know what it was like in the days leading up to the move. You weren’t there, but you’ve been there. You, too, know the sound of packing tape being pulled off the roll (and the aggravating attempt to find the end of the tape again), the desperation to grab hold of anything even slightly resembling a box, and the last-minute scrawling of “miscellaneous” on the last boxes of stuff that didn’t get packed anywhere else. (Turns out those are the boxes holding most of what you’re looking for after the move!)

Moving out of a house we’d been in for 26 years was a bit unsettling and emotional for us, but we knew there was a plan and we were excited to downsize and begin what we happily referred to as Act 3. Our cats, Molly and Beau, didn’t have the same level of reasoning and understanding, however.

The day of the move they were cloistered in an empty back bedroom with food, water, and litter. When we let them out at the end of the day, they slowly explored the completely empty house. We could only imagine what they mewed to one another.

“Well this is definitely NOT an improvement. What were they thinking? I’ll just jump up on the…the couch is missing!! Oh well, I’ll just hop on the…the kitchen table is gone!! How are we expected to live like this?”

Retrospectively it may not have been the best idea, but we decided to leave the cats alone in the empty house that night since we didn’t have to turn it over to the new owners for a few days. We wanted to get ourselves situated at The Residence Inn, where we would all live for 10 days, before bringing them over. Other than food, water, and litter, all they had was a sundry assortment of toy mice and jingly balls that turned up behind the furniture that was moved. Happy to see their lost toys, they would still have preferred a stuffed chair or a bed with a down comforter.

The next day they were most cooperative about being put into their cat carriers, however. My husband thinks they may have thought they had been left behind permanently and were relieved we came to get them. If so, that may explain how easily they adapted to life in a one-bedroom apartment at The Residence Inn.

“What do you think happened?” Molly may have asked Beau.
“I don’t know. Obviously they’ve had some sort of financial downturn,” Beau may have conjectured.

“Well, at least they kept us. We’d best just hunker down and make the most of it,” Molly may have concluded.

Whatever they were thinking, it’s true that there is bonding in adversity. The cat fights have drastically reduced since the whole moving experience began!

TO BE CONTINUED

Lessons Learned Late

October 20, 2012 by Nancy 5 Comments

You’d think a woman in her seventh decade of life (yikes, that’s scary!) would have learned about all there is to learn. But evidently not. I know there are some weighty lessons that are so important we need to learn them repeatedly. Trust in God. Pray first. Let go. Those lessons are important enough to relearn whenever necessary.

But those aren’t the lessons that have been on my mind lately. What bugs me are the common sense things that I feel I should have learned long ago. Why is it that a woman in her sixties hasn’t learned:

Never kiss a long-haired cat after generously applying lip balm.

Get your keys out of your purse before putting on a coat of fingernail polish.

Don’t turn the praise music on the radio up so loud that you won’t know you’re scraping the side of the garage with your car as you come in.

Remember that bleach splatters (yes, even splashless bleach), and it will ruin whatever it splashes on.

A watched pot never boils, but a pot left on the stove will boil over if you’re in the other room checking Facebook and someone posted a lot of funny cat photos.

The reusable bags you finally remembered to bring into the grocery store should be handed to the clerk at the beginning of the checkout process, not at the end.

Envelopes mailed without postage will show up in your own mailbox weeks later.

Curling irons are hot enough to burn skin. Thus the name, IRON.

What about you? Any lessons learned late, or that you seemingly never learn, that you’d like to share? Please. I know I’m not the only one…am I?

The Crazy Cat Lady

March 15, 2012 by Nancy Leave a Comment

Do you ever read an account of some bizarre bit of human behavior in the newspaper and, while everyone around you is bemused, think to yourself, “That could be me?” I had that experience recently when I read an account of a 95-year-old woman found passed out in her front yard. When the first responders went into her house, they found 40 cats.

Lately I’ve become more aware of the thin line between being “a lady who likes cats” and “a crazy cat lady,” and I have to tell you, it’s getting thinner. I wasn’t always so attracted to cats. We owned and loved two Golden Retrievers and I remain to this day a “big dog person.” When a cat entered a room, I would instinctively put my hand to my throat, because I was sure it was just looking for an opportunity to go for my jugular vein. After all, they looked like miniature tigers. How could you trust them? All I can tell you is that, as with most biases, knowledge dispelled my fear and increased my understanding and appreciation. And getting to know one cat invalidated the generalizations I had accepted about all of them.

So how many cats would I like to have you (and my husband!) might ask. That’s hard to say. After having at least one cat around for the last two dozen years, I’ve learned to truly appreciate their unique personalities. At the Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region all the cats available for adoption are categorized according to one of nine “feline-alities.” (I think they should have called them purr-sonalities.) For example, our cat Molly clearly fits into the Personal Assistant category. If anyone is wrapping a gift, working on taxes, or flipping through a cookbook to come up with something for dinner, she’s right there to lend a paw. Our cat Beau, however, would be classified as the Leader of the Band, a cat who does everything in a big way. Although he does love to cuddle, he’s especially big into adventure and couldn’t care less what we are doing unless he sees one of us go outside. Then he waits right by the door for us to open it again in hopes of blowing this boring baby boomer abode for some real excitement!

So you see, that leaves seven cat purr-sonalities I’m missing! What about the Private Investigator, the Secret Admirer, the Love Bug, the Sidekick, etc.? By my calculations, I only need to add 1.2 cats per year to reach 40 by the time I’m 95. That doesn’t seem excessive, does it? (Although I’m not sure what one feeds a partial cat.)

Actually, just writing this has been therapeutic. And there is one really good reason I’ll just continue to enjoy Molly and Beau and won’t go over into the “crazy cat lady” lifestyle. You see, I have a pretty good idea why that woman (who was fine, by the way) was passed out in her front yard. It was the smell of 40 litter boxes.