Lately, Titanescu has been staking his claim for my lap and attentions more and more firmly. He will not let either Tito or Jenny come near once he’s settled next to me on the bed. It’s a pain at times, but I feel he’s making up for a lifetime of denied affection and confirmed betrayal, having been returned twice after failed adoptions. Wonder what’s it like to be him?
I don’t know, but for some reason, this brought up some thoughts about what it felt like to lose our Burmese, The Boober and our Sphynx, Mazuzu Whang (Kitsy) to disease. That choking, gut-wrenching sorrow without a name. I think there came a time for them when they were ready to go and I know this brought me back, I was going to say ‘reduced’, to childhood with all its uncertainties.
But one thing I know without a doubt: while we use generic terms of affection such as kneading, bunting, head-bonking and cheek rubbing each cat does it in their own personal way. And each one of us knows those subtleties are only shared with one human. For myself, what made me break down saying goodbye wasn’t regret, it was being unable to take away their pain any other way. The Boober’s last days, he was unable to sleep on the bed period, and I tried sleeping on the kitchen floor to get close to him. He would come over and try to settle next to me but then the racking cough would start and he would keep pacing restlessly. He couldn’t purr without starting to cough painfully.
Mazuzu, Kitsy, was continuing to waste away,most of his personality seemingly gone, all his energy spent listlessly trying to keep alive.
After all they gave and showed, all I could do was to pet them on the steel exam table until they stopped breathing. No miracles. But no betrayal either.The comfort may be the certainty they knew they were loved, perhaps it’s not all that bad.
Now here are the pointy eared people