The Month the Cats Died

Wow, I guess that's how I'll remember December 2008. First Milo, now Matilda is gone. We were at the Humane Society yesterday to pick out a cute kitten to sorta/kinda replace Milo - at least to provide a little playmate for Oliver so he would hopefully stop torturing Matilda - she would have nothing to do with his attempts at playing. Our new little male gray kitten (no name yet) will be ready for pick-up Monday, after a small operation (if you know what I mean).

So we were hanging out at home for a while before we realized we hadn't seen Matilda when we arrived back. Found her dead on the floor beneath her favorite window perch. Wow. We have no idea when it happened but neither of us heard a cry or a thump of any kind so assume it was while we were out. She was already pretty stiff.

She was fairly old and crotchety the last few years although we're quite certain she was just 2-3 months old when Juan rescued her from the railroad warehouse in 2000 and brought her home. That would make her just 8 years old at her death, and that's not really old for a cat. But she hadn't been herself since Oliver came to live with us and that was by choice. She chose to be intolerant and fussy and we did our best to honor her space issues and give her separate attention.

During a vet visit in 2002 the doctor warned us she had an untreatable heart murmur and could drop dead at any time but after a few months we dismissed that as unlikely. But I expect that's what got her in the end. In her sweetest years she was my exercise buddy and would do yoga stretches with me and leg lifts on her own little exercise mat. Juan taught her to open the snack door in the kitchen and we'd hear the bang from other parts of the house which meant time for her snack. If our response wasn't swift enough, she would bang it again until we came. Her favorite manipulation while we were in the vicinity of the kitchen was to give us her "sweet" face (just like Puss-n-Boots in the Shrek 2 movie), which also meant snacks were required.

I'll miss Matilda. But I think she's much happier now in pet heaven with Milo than she was here with us. Sorry, Matilda.

Community

First day of finals the campus is a lot less crowded so I parked a little closer and walked a different path to my classroom to take my Classics exam. The small street passed between two of the older sorority buildings and I idly noted that a parking space at the edge of one tiny parking lot was designated "Chef." Hmmm, I thought, while my consciousness drifted back from ancient Rome to the present day, I guess I didn't know sororities had chefs. Pretty cool. No worries about where/what to eat for breakfast, lunch, dinner... nice benefit.

Returned to my car the same way and, as I passed closer to the other sorority, I heard the distinctive clatter of industrial ceramic plates being either washed or set out for lunch. In a flash I was transported back to my Bible College days at CCBS and felt the wistful tug of longing for that same sense of togetherness, routine, security, of being part of a larger whole, sharing meals, helping with dishes (I doubt the sorority girls have that task, although I may be wrong!), the feeling of family at a time when your youth makes you very vulnerable.

In many ways, my one-year Bible College of, as I remember, around 60 students, probably had some similarities with a sorority or fraternity at a major college. We shared meals in the large diningroom between the two dorm wings, we knew the cooks by first name and by specialty (their spaghetti was delicious!), and there was such a sense of comraderie and, well, community.

Where did that go? Was it primarily a feature of our youth? My "community" today is, of course, my husband and home, my small circle of friends, my extended family. But there's nothing quite like being "out in the world" for the first time at 18 or 19 and experiencing such a strong bond with people you hadn't even met until you arrived on campus. I admit I've not been particularly fond of the sorority/fraternity scene and think it is a bit ridiculous and unnecessary for most students. However, this morning I did get an apreciation for how vital that sense of community is at their age. It's something I definitely benefitted from... wow, thirty-five years ago! For a moment this morning it felt like only yesterday.

Ode to Milo

Milo was my cat and buddy for nine years but today the house is empty of Milos because he took ill last week, deteriorated very fast, and had to be euthanized yesterday. Cause is unknown because the emergency vet wanted over $700 just to diagnose him and that plus costly treatment surely wouldn't have brought back the buddy who was now just a shadow of his former self.

The cat who loved sunshine and warmth - even at the height of Tucson summers - was inexplicably found huddling on the cold floor of the gloomy shower stall. The cat for whom I switched to Science Diet LITE so he wouldn't balloon past his healthy pudgy weight and who asked for cat snacks daily in addition to his canned food suddenly hadn't eaten in two days and wouldn't even sniff the bowl in front of him. He had noticeably lost weight. The cat who was my faithful, annoying pre-alarm clock and would wake me every morning exactly two minutes before my regular alarm went off had missed his sentry duty the last five or six mornings and had let me sleep in. And he no longer reminded me at 9:00 pm that I really should be in bed. He'd lost his remarkable sense of time and routine.

The only thing he didn't lose was his steady, phlegmatic, easy-going personality and that is what I will miss the most. He wasn't only MY buddy, he was everybody's buddy. Seven years ago when Juan brought home a little waif of a kitten from the big railroad warehouse, Milo made her feel welcome and quickly became Matilda's constant companion. Likewise, when just over a year ago Juan rescued yet another wirey ball of fluff, Milo was there to endure Oliver's playfulness and to plant a well-placed wallop now and then when young Oliver got too rambunctious. They've been best of buddies ever since.

He was both invisible and in the way. Never heard a peep from him most of the time, but if you were in a hurry or just HAD to get into that closet, Milo was there, in the way. Always managed to be on the bathroom counter at the exact moment I needed to use the hairspray (his nemesis). But mostly his even-temperedness made him almost an afterthought... Oh, it's just Milo. Why, then, does the house feel so empty without him?

Love you Milo.