It is with a heavy heart that I interrupt my series of posts on Finding your Voice to let my followers know that this past weekend we said goodbye to Dufus - the actual cat that inspired the name 'Cat-in-a-Box Studio'. I don't think I can say anything better than the eulogy my husband wrote to send to our friends and family. I don't think he'll mind me posting it here - anyone who bothers to read this blog is likely to be a person sympathetic to the loss of a dear friend.
IN MEMORIAM
For twelve years, Dufus was the most gregarious cat anyone would
care to meet. Whenever we had anyone over, they soon found a large
grey-and-white mass on their lap, sometimes never entirely sure how he
had arrived there yet it was where the cat seemed to belong. It was on a
lap -- usually mine -- that Dufus was happiest, ever and always
demonstrating his profound contentment with the slow, sleepy flexing of
his paws, the blissful look on his face, and the soft rumble from his
throat.
We
knew this was coming. We didn't really know when, but we knew it was
coming. We have known it was coming since December 30, 2011 when he had
what we think was essentially a heart attack. A 24-hour ECG test --
which made him look like a suicide bomber --
confirmed that he also had a severe arrhythmia. None of
that bothered him. The personality of this cat was so strong, his
capacity to give and receive love so overwhelming, he survived more than
a year and a half in congestive heart failure.
During that time, he never failed to greet me when I came home by asking -- nay, demanding -- to be picked up and held the way a (human) toddler would.
He never failed to sample whatever beverage was on hand: coffee or
soda if that's what we were drinking, though he seemed to gravitate
toward the beer, wine, or liquor.
Or perhaps it was just that we gravitated toward those things.... He
tolerated without complaint the entire pharmacy of medications and
supplements that we shoved down his throat. His heart and kidney
disease took its toll on his muscle mass, and his appetite, but that
didn't matter. All he wanted was to be held, and for him that made it
all okay.
About a week ago, suddenly it wasn't okay. He had
some jaw pain, due to either a bad tooth or cancer. His appetite
dropped off further, but he kept purring. His weight dropped
precipitously. His bloodwork looked horrific, though that was not a
surprise. We put him on antibiotics for his tooth, and supplements for
his poor appetite and bad kidneys.
About a day and a half ago, he stopped purring. He was weak, and stumbling, and he wasn't getting better.
Pam
and I prepared everything as best we could. Dufus stumbled into my
arms and onto my shoulder. He purred, quietly, for just a few seconds.
It was then we said goodbye for good.
We knew this was coming, but that for damn sure didn't make it easy.
I
would like to be able to thank the universe for putting such a dear,
sweet, dork of a cat in our lives, even for so short a time;
for giving us such a constant source of amusement and surprise; and showing us what it means to touch such inexhaustible love, so deeply profound in its unaffected simplicity.
I
would like to be able to do these things, but I cannot. Someday, I am
sure I will. Right now, however, the wound is just a bit too raw. For
now, I must content myself with the memories, until those echoes become
enough. I know that is what Dufus would want me to do.
Goodnight, my cat. My dear, sweet, wonderful cat.
Posts
