Posted on 11/25/2003 9:56:23 AM PST by boris
My big old cat, Cloyd, passed away today, after 19 years of life with me. He came to me as a kitten, with his “brother” Gidney. Grey toms.
Gidney and Cloyd (named after the Moonmen in Rocky & Bullwinkle) had distinctly different personalities. Gidney was hyper; Cloyd laid back. Gidney was starved for affection, like a clinging girlfriend. Cloyd, from the beginning, was an irascible beast, accepting affection grudgingly, on his terms. I didn’t much care for Gidney. I came to love Cloyd with all my heart. Gidney was “easy”; a slut. Cloyd played hard-to-get, a challenge. He seemed to say, “If you want my trust and my affection you will have to earn it.”
Both were indoor cats. One day, due to illness and dull thinking, I left the front door unlocked. The wind blew it open and Gidney vanished. A hawk or coyote got him, I suspect. I did not grieve much for Gidney, though I searched everywhere for him, put up flyers, made the rounds of the animal shelters.
Cloyd was alone. I thought him lonely, so I sought a companion. I wanted a female cat. Lady cats have bigger plumbing and don’t block as easily as males. A friend called me from Albuquerque. He had a black cat abandoned by its owner. “Male or female?”
“Male.”
“OK, I’ll take it.”v
That’s when Ringo appeared. A domestic long-hair, with a tail that loops into a circle as it comes off his back. He arrived sodden; completely soaked in his own urine. The idiot who’d driven him up from Albuquerque had left him in a carrier for the entire trip. A more disheveled creature I have not seen. Ringo was almost named ‘Helix’ but I thought that too cute.
Ringo turns out to be Gidney on steroids. He wants to worship at the Church of Boris, and is content only when in close physical contact with me. I hate him. Well, not really, but constant worship, even from a cat, becomes wearing.
Ringo used to be an outdoor cat, and he longs for the outside world. But, aside from a cat door to my 3rd floor balcony, he stayed in with Cloyd.
Cloyd, at about nine, began to have urinary blockages common to male cats. He had several surgeries, and almost died several times. He was a high-maintenance beast. I calculated that, over his lifetime, he has had well over $10,000 in medical bills. His most recent operation cost over $4,000. The vet and I had a conversation. “This will be his last surgery. He couldn’t survive another, and his quality of life would be zero.” The thought of euthanizing him brought me to tears.
Thinking of the ordeals he has been through, I am amazed at his bravery and resilience. Nine lives…I think Cloyd had 19. A tough guy and a trooper. I suspect that for the last couple of years, he has been suffering in silence. The vet told me his bladder wall was scarred and thickened to an almost incredible degree. Every time he urinated must have been a painful effort.
Cloyd was always a character. He liked dark colors. He would perch on a piece of cloth, a blanket, a garment—if it was dark. If I was wearing my navy robe, he would consent to sit on my chest. If I was wearing something light-colored, he would ignore me.
He used to love to sharpen his claws on my sneakers, eventually ripping out the toes completely. I gave him a pair of sneakers, and he quickly understood that he could do anything he wanted with them, but must leave my other ones alone. Eventually I threw them out; they were no longer recognizable as shoes.
Lately he’d work on some black rubber flip-flops, slowly reducing them to tiny bits.
Cloyd was a low-volume beast. When God designed him, he set the volume control on Cloyd’s purr-motor at a very low level. You basically had to put your ear on his chest to hear anything at all. He wasn’t “talkative” like many cats are…and, like taciturn humans, his paucity of “speech” made you listen more carefully when he “spoke”.
I called him “Rammer.” He had the feline love of edges, rubbing his head on anything sharp or hard. I accommodated him. We developed a ritual. I would find things to rub his cat skull with. He loved the handle part of a pair of Fiskars scissors. The hub from a 50-CD stack was another fave. Pens and pencils. DAT tape containers.
When you live with a person—and Cloyd was a person—for 19 years, you get to know them. Cloyd talked to me, and I to him. I knew what he liked, what he disliked, what he wanted, what was wrong. I gained a sixth sense that enabled me to detect when his bladder was blocked and rush him to the vet.
What can you say about a cat that you loved and who has died? Cloyd was a good and true friend, a faithful companion, a joy, and a nuisance. I’d be much richer—in dollars—if I’d never met him, but much poorer—in spirit—if I had not. He was a good cat. A much better cat than I am a person. Ten thousand dollars? I’d have gladly spent sixty thousand, if it’d given him relief and a few more years.
So now I am left with Ringo, a second fiddle who is suddenly first. But it is not the same, without the big old curmudgeonly bachelor cat – who so resembled me in temperament.
I am going to miss Mr. Cloyd for a long time. I feel his lack as an aching absence that I will never get used to. I will grieve over him as I would over any family member. And as long as I live, he will live in my mind. It is my fond hope that his soul and mine might again meet, on the other side. If there is a Heaven, he is bound for it. My own destination is less certain. But I wouldn’t mind a bit, if the Lord would permit me to share eternity with my friend Cloyd the Cat.
I personally love cats like crazy. I think dogs make the best pets .....BUT cats are not pets. They are companions.
Somebody said:
Dogs have owners, but cats have staff.
I have been thru this loss and mourning too many darn times.
I have had cats that were anti-anyone being near them on anything less than their unconditional terms.
I have had cats that were the complete opposite and you couldn't push them away from you if you tried.
I have had cats that disappeared, not sure what happened and I have had cats that I know were angels (we have one now) and were there to just be with us as we experienced all the ups and downs of life.
(I love dogs as well, but dogs are pack animals that require exercise and attention to be physically and psychologically healthy, and I often have no time for either.)
The fact that the solitary, self-centered cat can be transformed by love into a creature capable of something more offers the despondent pet owner some hope of a reunion with their lost cat. C.S. Lewis was of the opinion that certain pets could achieve immortality in the same way we humans do: by being loved. Just as God's love of human beings transmitted through the Person of Christ is the sole means for the transformation of sinful human nature (and thus of achieving immortality), so too, speculated Lewis, could God's love as transmitted through the owner of a cat or dog (etc.) serve to transform the animal loved, changing its innate nature (i.e. its "catness" or "dogness") into something higher than mere "cat" or "dog", creating a new creature capable of some form of eternal life.
Lewis wrote about the possibility of animals being in Heaven several times. In a summer 2003 essay entitled “Animals and the Kingdom of Heaven”, Catholic writer Sean Connolly explains that
...in Lewis’ vision of heaven, the pets I had as a child - and indeed those I have now or may come to have later - may well be caught up in my experience of the heavenly realm when I die. The best expression of this idea is found in Lewis’ theological fantasy, The Great Divorce. Here he describes a woman in heaven surrounded by a train of young children, angels, and - significantly - birds and beasts. The following dialogue makes explanation:Human nature is flawed by original sin; left to ourselves, our natural end is the eternal death of Hell. The atoning love of Cheist for us transforms our broken nature into the perfect, immortal nature of the saints. In like manner, just as God transforms human nature by His love for us, enabling us to live forever, might not the limitless power of that divine love overflow through us into the creatures that we love, enabling them to somehow exist in the New Heavens and New Earth that await all those touched by the love of Christ?“What are all these animals? A cat - two cats - dozens of cats. And all those dogs ... why, I can’t count them. And the birds. And the horses.”“They are her beasts.”
“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”
“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”
Remember, we know that there will be cats in heaven; Scripture specifically tells us that the lion will lie down with the lamb. If lions will be there, why not your cat?
In any case, that was Lewis' opinion. Your duty is to thank the Lord for the years of companionship your lost pet gave you, and to adopt another pet — preferably one in need! — that you can love and be loved by. Your local shelter is full of such animals, waiting patiently for your call.
Again, my sympathies.
Our two latest cats were rescued feral kitties. We considered purebred cats, but ultimately our hearts led us toward the homeless needy kitties - once again. They always seem so grateful for their place in our homes and in our hearts.
I'm so sorry! Tia
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