PUDDY---A Cat's Tale (Repost Of Story About My Cat Who Passed Away Tonight)

No sooner do I open my eyes than there is a new meow with more urgency in its tone. This meow is accompanied by a thumping against the side of the kitty litter box. This is the signal from Puddy that she wants me to change her litter NOW! No delay or Puddy will give me her angry hissing meow. No sooner am I done changing the kitty litter than Puddy lets loose with her insistent “Bowl-Out-Of-Water” meow. This meow has a quite distinctive tone and is not to be confused with the “Running-Low-On-Food” meow.

When I hear the latter meow I know to immediately fill up her feeder with dry cat food. Her wailing and tragically operatic “NO FOOD” meow is so heart wrenching that I would rather not hear it since it causes me to spend the rest of the week in the grip of a horrible guilt trip.

My morning chores done, I heat up some coffee and begin working on my computer. Soon there is a growling meow coming from Puddy. My coffee cup is sitting on HER SPOT. There are a hundred places in my abode for Puddy to repose but for some reason she often prefers the exact spot where my coffee cup is sitting. This begins a series of negotiation meows. At first these meows have a compromising tone but eventually they become very demanding. When I finally hear Puddy’s long drawn out meow, I know to lift my coffee cup and let Puddy have her resting spot. There is really no choice in this matter since if I don’t comply with Puddy’s demands, she would have simply knocked my coffee cup over and taken her rightful place.

The rest of the day is filled with a series of instruction meows from Puddy. Each meow has its own unique tone. The “Scratch-Me-On-The-Tummy” meow is similar yet distinct from her “Rub-Me-Under-The-Neck” meow. Such are the meows throughout the day until her “Hit-The-Sack” meow. Sometimes when I fall asleep watching TV on the couch, Puddy will smack me hard across the face with her paw and then give me the “Hit-The-Sack” meow. Puddy does not tolerate me sleeping on the couch so I must now wearily stagger over to my bed in the next room.

And sometimes…late at night when she is in a state of deep sleep, Puddy lets loose with the Big Bad Bill nightmare meow. It is at those moments that the memories of her escape from Big Bad Bill come back to haunt her.

Do you remember Puddy? Do you remember the time when Big Bad Bill almost got you? Fortunately those memories only come back to you in your sleep, Puddy.

My first encounter with Puddy began soon after I rented part of a house from Big Bad Bill. Actually back then I only knew him as Bill. The “Big Bad” part didn’t kick in until later.

Soon after moving into that house, I was having a barbecue party in the backyard. I was in the middle of gnawing on my ribs when I felt a ball of fur rubbing against my leg along with hearing the faint sound of a hungry “meow.”

I looked down and saw a scrawny black cat. It was Puddy. I fed her some meat which she quickly gobbled up and then more and yet more. Finally Puddy had her fill and disappeared.

Later that night as I started drifting off to sleep, I heard a thump on my window sill. I looked up and saw Puddy sitting on the window sill giving me an inquiring meow as if requesting to enter.

You see, I’ve always been a dog person. Until then I considered cats as being too alien to my personality to have as pets.

The next morning I woke up and saw Puddy snoring at the foot of my bed. No sooner did I roll out of bed than Puddy woke up and gave me an “I’m Hungry” meow. As I stated, I always considered cats as alien creatures so you can imagine how awkward I felt going to the store to buy cat food. In fact, I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I WAS NOT a cat person. Or so I kept telling myself.

When I filled up Puddy’s bowl, I told her, “Okay, eat up, Puddy, because after this you’re on your own.” Actually I told Puddy the very same thing the next day and then the next until by the following week, I dropped all pretense and accepted the fact that Puddy was my pet.

Once I accepted the fact that Puddy was my pet, or rather that she chose me as her servant, things went fairly smoothly. Oh, there were a few problems in learning how to adjust to Puddy. The biggest of these problems had to do with the “gifts” Puddy brought me.

These “gifts” came in the form of dead mice or wounded birds. Often I would open my bedroom door to see the dead mice and hopping birds on my bed, with Puddy proudly meowing nearby. You see, in the cat world such creatures are considered gifts. And, unfortunately, Puddy had great hunting prowess which meant a plethora of such “gifts” which she would collect at a nearby field.

However, problematic as Puddy’s “gifts” were, it paled in comparison to the danger in the form of Big Bad Bill. Big Bad Bill was on the wagon but his mind was always on the sauce. This constant craving for booze made him quite irritable. Somehow Puddy made Big Bad Bill even more irritable than he normally was. Perhaps it was the way Puddy would prance in her carefree way while Big Bad Bill remained a slave to his alcohol urges. Whenever Big Bad Bill spotted Puddy he would mutter angrily and curse under his breath.

At first, Big Bad Bill’s attitude didn’t concern me. So he didn’t like Puddy. That was his problem.

Then one day Big Bad Bill snapped. Puddy was happily prancing back and forth on the stone wall out back. Big Bad Bill was glaring angrily at her and muttering the usual curses. The more he cursed, the more frisky became Puddy’s walk on the wall. It was as if Puddy was mocking Big Bad Bill.

Suddenly Big Bad Bill could stand it no longer. He let out with a loud incoherent curse and hurled a cantaloupe at Puddy. Puddy easily hopped above the flight path of the cantaloupe and then disappeared from the wall. Meanwhile the screaming Big Bad Bill ran to the wall and began pounding it with his fists while loudly vowing to kill Puddy.

I realized then that there was no way to keep Big Bad Bill from attempting to kill Puddy. This was something he was determined to do and there was no stopping him…. Unless someone killed Big Bad Bill first.

Did I say that I was planning to kill Big Bad Bill? Well yes---sort of. What I wanted was the same effect as murdering him. That is, to put Big Bad Bill out of operation so as to remove his threat to Puddy.

I figured I needed a week. A week to find a new place to live and move out with Puddy. But in that time, Big Bad Bill had to be put out of commission. I couldn’t take a chance that Big Bad Bill would catch Puddy during that time.

Shortly after the incident at the wall, I walked into the living room with a bottle of Cutty Sark and a couple of full glasses. Big Bad Bill was sitting on the couch and still muttering about killing Puddy.

“Hey Bill,” I said. “How about a nice drink? It will make you feel better.”

Bill look thirstily at the bottle and said, “Naw. I’m trying to stay off that stuff.”

I poured drinks into both glasses and made a big show of sipping my Cutty Sark and commenting on its terrific taste. All the while, Big Bad Bill was staring at the other glass sitting on the coffee table. The Cutty Sark seemed to cry out to him like a siren song yet still he resisted. At this point I decided it was best to leave Big Bad Bill alone in the room with the Cutty Sark.

I went outside and impatiently waited a long five minutes. When I decided to return, I wondered if perhaps I should give Big Bad Bill more time to go off the wagon. I needn’t have worried. When I re-entered the living room, not only was his glass empty, so was my glass as well as over half the bottle of Cutty Sark which Bill was in the process of happily guzzling down.

Gone was the old, angry Big Bad Bill. I was now faced with a new happy and mellow Bill whose smiling face was slowly weaving back and forth.

Now came Phase 2 of the operation. I knew it was only a matter of time before Big Bad Bill sobered up and revived his vendetta against Puddy. Therefore, it became incumbent upon me to keep Big Bad Bill under the influence of the Happy Sauce.

I went to the store and bought several bottles of generic scotch. You know the type. The bold generic blue “SCOTCH” letters against a white background. No sense wasting good money on high quality booze. Big Bad Bill was beyond the point of caring about blend quality.

Without explanation, I left a couple of the generic scotch bottles with Big Bad Bill who was by then reclining on the couch and singing to himself. I figured it was enough to last him until the next morning.

Well, actually it was more than enough. When I entered the living room the next morning, I was greeted by a sickening wall of stench. Big Bad Bill was lifelessly sprawled in a puddle of vomit on the floor. In addition, he had thoroughly fouled himself, making the stench even more unbearable. Holding my breath and fighting nausea, I checked his pulse.

Then I heard the horrible gurgling sound of somebody vomiting. It was Big Bad Bill. He was throwing up what little still remained in his stomach. Okay, so maybe I didn’t check his pulse correctly. Nobody ever accused me of being a doctor.

Big Bad Bill was alive but out of action. Therefore he no longer posed a danger to Puddy. However, there was still a problem. The stench emanating from Big Bad Bill was unbearable. I had to get him outside. This task was much easier said than done. Big Bad Bill was 6’3” and weighed over 240 pounds. Plus at the moment this was all dead weight. Since he still had one foot as yet uncovered by disgusting bodily fluids, I grabbed Big Bad Bill by the ankle and dragged him outside.

Big Bad Bill’s unconscious head thump, thump, thumped on the cement as I dragged him over the steps. Then his face got pockmarked by gravel and coated with dirt as I slowly pulled him like a heavy sack of potatoes across the yard.

It was exhausting work. Unfortunately I could not just leave him in the backyard since he would have been in full view of the neighbors when they went into their backyards. Therefore I had to drag Big Bad Bill to the swimming pool all the way in the back. It was surrounded by a wall so any bodies lying on the pool deck would remain unobserved to outsiders.

The pool deck became the home of Big Bad Bill for the rest of the week that I remained there. On those rare occasions when Big Bad Bill awoke from his alcohol induced coma, his bleary eyes were presented with three things nearby---A bowl of beef stew, a pan of tap water, and a bottle of generic scotch. At first I included a spoon with the bowl of stew but this was unnecessary since Big Bad Bill would just drop his face into the stew bowl and slobber down some nutrients. Ditto the pan of water. Then he would get down to the really important matter at hand---swigging down most of the bottle of scotch before lapsing back into a coma for several more hours.

So long as a bottle of generic scotch remained on the pool deck, Big Bad Bill was effectively put out of action as far as Puddy was concerned. In fact, while Big Bad Bill snored on the pool deck, Puddy would often march triumphantly back and forth on the nearby wall while meowing in defiance at the helpless Bill.

Convenient as this situation was, it did bring problems. The main problem was the possibility of Big Bad Bill crawling over the edge of the pool, falling in, and drowning. I considered draining the pool but that would have brought forth the possibility of Bill cracking his skull open on the bottom of the pool. After careful deliberation, I opted for leaving the pool full. Since Big Bad Bill was lying on the deck near the shallow end of the pool, I figured if he fell in, the water would revive him enough so he could haul himself out on the steps.

Of course, I took no chances. For the rest of the week I slept on a lounge chair in the backyard while keeping an eye out on Big Bad Bill. All the while I made sure that he had a steady supply of scotch, stew, and water. Because he continued to vomit and foul himself, this attracted swarms of flies so I hosed Big Bad Bill down a couple of times a day from a garden hose. I also had to keep moving the umbrella around to keep him in the shade and out of the hot summer sun. Despite my efforts he still burned to a crisp red shade. What with the flies, the filth, and the burnt skin he no longer resembled the Big Bad Bill of old. He was now an inhuman thing---The Beast.

Once Puddy had a scare that week. The Beast on one occasion was actually able to get up on his knees. For about a minute, The Beast swiveled his head around while blinking his unfocused eyes. The Beast even looked momentarily in my direction without knowing what he was seeing….and then he collapsed back into his generic scotch coma. Puddy quickly returned to the wall and hissed angrily at The Beast followed by a defiant meow.

At the end of the week I packed up my gear along with Puddy. I was getting ready to drag The Beast back into the house but, unfortunately, there was a neighbor working in his backyard. It would have been tough for me to explain away my dragging of an apparently lifeless body across the yard. Therefore, I left The Beast by the pool deck along with a double ration of stew and a half bottle of generic scotch. Being a humanitarian, I figured it was better for The Beast to slowly ease out of his generic scotch dependency rather than going cold turkey right away.

About a week after leaving the unconscious Big Bad Bill by the pool, I began to get really worried. Did he fall into the pool and drown? If so that would mean I contributed to his death….. MURDER!

I scanned the newspapers and TV newscasts for any reports of a sunburned, vomit-covered drunk drowning in a swimming pool. Nothing. But perhaps he did drown. Maybe the police were waiting for the murderer to return to the scene of the crime. Which is why I didn’t return.

However, it was really eating at me about what happened to Big Bad Bill. A month later I drove by his house. What I saw caused me to panic. The grass was uncut. Could it be? Could Big Bad Bill have drowned in the pool, leaving his yard work undone?

Two weeks after this, I returned again. The grass was even higher. I looked up and down the street, checking for parked vans that might have held police waiting for the murderer to return to the scene of the crime.

I nervously got out of my car and knocked on the front door. There was no reply so I knocked again. This time I heard a faint stumbling sound in the house as if furniture was being shoved around. Then I heard somebody fumbling with the doorknob. Finally the door slowly swung open and there was Big Bad Bill, fighting to keep his balance in the doorway.

He could barely stand on his feet. Although he was somewhat cleaned up he was extremely disheveled looking with. His red eyes blearily stared at me. When recognition finally came to him, he said, “Hey, I missed ya! Great tenant. Really great tenant you were.” His breath nearly knocked me over due to the heavy concentration of alcohol.

“So how is puddy doing?” asked Bill with a mellow smile as his head wobbled back and forth.

“That’s great!” said Big Bad Bill with red eyes tearfully glowing compassionately. “I loved that cat. I really did.”

Yes the story had a happy ending. Big Bad Bill was prevented from harming Puddy and I didn’t have to face murder charges.

It’s late at night. The frightened meow from the sleeping Puddy reminds me that her nightmares of Big Bad Bill continue. But moments later I hear that meow blend into a contented purr. Puddy is once again hunting in the field of her dreams.

Puddy passed away tonight, just a few hours ago. Fortunately her death was painless and I will be burying her tomorrow night. I'm still too shook up to post much more about her other than to repost this story about Puddy that I originally posted over a year ago.

Often, as I made my posts here on the FR or typed up my stories on the keyboard, Puddy would take her familiar spot in the cubicle under my computer desk and rub up against my feet. Now it feels very empty without that warm bundle of fur cuddling up against me down there.

So long, Puddy!

The Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author: Unknown

Request From Rainbow Bridge

Weep not for me though I am gone
Into that gentle night
Grieve if you will, but not for long
Upon my soul's sweet flight.
I am at peace, my soul's at rest
There is no need for tears.
For with your love I was so blessed
For all those many years.
There is no pain, I suffer not,
The fear now all is gone.
Put now these things out of your thoughts,
In your memory I live on.
Remember not my fight for breath
Remember not the strife
Please do not dwell upon my death,
But celebrate my life.

Author: Constance Jenkins

Can you imagine a heaven without pets? There is a very special place where beloved pets go after they die. This is only a temporary location. But there are trees and grass and lakes, and everything they love. Here they can play and eat and sleep, even better than they did, before they died. Now, there are no aches or worries or dangers of any kind to trouble or threaten them. The only joy missing is their beloved human companion, you. All health is restored completely, and all injuries are healed. Dogs and cats play with each other like youngsters, and they do not have time to feel lonely for you. They miss you, and with the special wisdom that animals have, they trust that this condition will get better. And they confidently wait as they frolic. A wonderful day will come for each of them, when in the middle of playing they will suddenly feel something is different. And all their senses will be at the height of excitement and exuberance. They will sniff the air and look off in the distance where they recognize that dearly loved special presence. Then they will call out in elation, and with eyes shining and tail going wild, tear off at a full gallop, almost flying over the green grass. Your expected arrival has been sensed, and now there is nothing that can keep the two of you apart, ever again. As you run toward each other the tears flow from your eyes. Your pet leaps into your arms, and you cling together in jubilant reunion. The joyous kisses are all over your face, and you kiss back, just as ecstatically. Your hands so lovingly caress once more the beloved fur, the head and neck and body you knew so well. And you look into each other’s loving eyes, and all those old, wonderful shared feelings are back, again. And then something will call the both of you on, to a different field of warmth and nurture, where all the love you knew now comes to fruition. With your pet, you leave that special waiting area, walk into the main part of heaven, and begin a new existence there, together. If you accept that pets can love us as much as we do them, then the logic is clear and cannot be denied. If you believe that there is a heaven for people, then they must be there, waiting for us, when we cross over. Heaven is love, and pets always share that with us. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --Wallace Sife, Ph. D. The Loss of a Pet (Revised Edition, 1998) Ch. 16

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