It was hard to tell where the body was buried. The only clue was the small pile of loose dirt that all but blended into the debris that surrounded it. I held my children’s hands as we stood in a circle around the grave. We were there to say goodbye to our pet.
The Bean was adamant with his suggestion that we mark the occasion by reciting “The Plegible Legions.”* With no better ideas on the table, we did it. In the middle of it WonderWife™ and I caught each other’s gaze. The emotions of the past few days mixed with the absurdity of the moment and we couldn’t keep ourselves from laughing.
The kids had handled the news that their pet was being put to sleep remarkably well, all things considered. WonderWife™ and I had planned for the conversation with the precision of a military strike. We decided not to pull any punches with them. We would not invent wild fantasies to disguise the truth with sugary sweetness. There would be no talk of kitty heaven. We planned for lots of tears and lots of questions. Both were in plentiful supply.
That morning, the Bean said his final goodbyes to his cat and left for school. Sprout didn’t have pre-school that day, so my job was to plan a morning of activities that would distract her while WonderWife™ took care of the unpleasantries. While it was hard to plaster a happy look on my face to keep my daughter focused on playing, I knew that my wife was dealing with the way more difficult task.
That afternoon, we sat shiva. WW™ made a pie and we lit candles and said a few nice words about our departed cat. After the sugar worked its way into the Bean’s system, he declared the day “the best ever!”, oddly seeming to forget that a just few moments earlier we stood over the grave of our companion performing an inappropriate eulogy. It didn’t matter. The tension had been broken.
*Say it out loud.
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Losing a Pet
Two weeks ago, I awoke in the middle of the night to the unpleasant sensation of being pissed on by my cat. Initially, I thought he might have been exacting some sort of feline revenge on me because I’m usually the one who ends up shooing him out of rooms where he’s not supposed to be. Yet anyone familiar with cat behavior knows that a lot of the time something like this isn’t an act of aggression but a signal that something is wrong. Something was indeed wrong—the un-fixable kind of wrong.
Three years ago we adopted a stray kitten who grew big and fluffy and burrowed his way into our hearts. We dubbed him Ginko. In Ginko, WonderWife™ found a cat who adored all things fabric and would magically appear whenever she was working on a quilt to lay amongst the scraps on her sewing table. Sprout found a pet who wouldn’t run away from her attempts at affection, like our other, more nervous cat. The Bean found a best friend. The bond between Ginko and the Bean was palpable and touching. The cat followed the boy around the house during the day and happily rested on his bed as the Bean drifted off to sleep. Ginko would often howl outside of the Bean’s door at night, wanting to be closer to his friend.
WonderWife™ and I are burdened with the heavy knowledge that tomorrow will be Ginko’s last. As of my writing this, we haven’t yet broken the news to the kids. I imagine it’s going to be very hard for them to understand. Despite outward appearances, we have a very sick cat and based on what the vet tells us, the only humane decision is the most difficult one. Not only must we grieve, but we must guide our children through their first experience losing someone they love.
WonderWife™recently told me she had been looking forward to Ginko growing older, when his wild kitten-like nature would calm and he’d become a true lap cat. I was looking forward to watching my son grow up with his favorite pet. But that isn’t going to happen, because sadly sometimes pets get sick. And sometimes pets die young.
By the time you’re reading this Ginko will be gone and the Geek Boy family will be drowning our sorrows in giant bowls of ice cream. I’d give a lot if tomorrow morning I could wake up to him pissing on me.
RIP Ginky Malinky, rapscallion cat. You will be missed.
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Three years ago we adopted a stray kitten who grew big and fluffy and burrowed his way into our hearts. We dubbed him Ginko. In Ginko, WonderWife™ found a cat who adored all things fabric and would magically appear whenever she was working on a quilt to lay amongst the scraps on her sewing table. Sprout found a pet who wouldn’t run away from her attempts at affection, like our other, more nervous cat. The Bean found a best friend. The bond between Ginko and the Bean was palpable and touching. The cat followed the boy around the house during the day and happily rested on his bed as the Bean drifted off to sleep. Ginko would often howl outside of the Bean’s door at night, wanting to be closer to his friend.
WonderWife™ and I are burdened with the heavy knowledge that tomorrow will be Ginko’s last. As of my writing this, we haven’t yet broken the news to the kids. I imagine it’s going to be very hard for them to understand. Despite outward appearances, we have a very sick cat and based on what the vet tells us, the only humane decision is the most difficult one. Not only must we grieve, but we must guide our children through their first experience losing someone they love.
WonderWife™recently told me she had been looking forward to Ginko growing older, when his wild kitten-like nature would calm and he’d become a true lap cat. I was looking forward to watching my son grow up with his favorite pet. But that isn’t going to happen, because sadly sometimes pets get sick. And sometimes pets die young.
By the time you’re reading this Ginko will be gone and the Geek Boy family will be drowning our sorrows in giant bowls of ice cream. I’d give a lot if tomorrow morning I could wake up to him pissing on me.
RIP Ginky Malinky, rapscallion cat. You will be missed.
.JPG)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Drop the Cat
The water was flowing from spout to tub. Clothes had been discarded. Teeth brushed. I was just about to plop the Bean into the bath when I turned around and saw him.
“Drop the cat! Drop the cat! Drop the cat NOW!”
The Bean was struggling to lift the cat into the tub. The cat, usually abnormally curious about the bath, was desperately clawing for freedom. It finally squirmed out of the Bean’s arms and fled the bathroom faster than a cheetah on amphetamines. My patience with the Bean's shenanigans had been slowly eroding over the evening. It was lecture time. I knelt down to the Bean’s level and demanded that he look me in the eye. I gave him parent speech #37 about needing to listen.
When I’m done, the Bean looked down sheepishly. He waited two beats, grabbed his penis, defiantly pointed it up at me and said, “Psssssssshhhhhh!”
I was angry, but I gotta say, the kid has excellent timing.
“Drop the cat! Drop the cat! Drop the cat NOW!”
The Bean was struggling to lift the cat into the tub. The cat, usually abnormally curious about the bath, was desperately clawing for freedom. It finally squirmed out of the Bean’s arms and fled the bathroom faster than a cheetah on amphetamines. My patience with the Bean's shenanigans had been slowly eroding over the evening. It was lecture time. I knelt down to the Bean’s level and demanded that he look me in the eye. I gave him parent speech #37 about needing to listen.
When I’m done, the Bean looked down sheepishly. He waited two beats, grabbed his penis, defiantly pointed it up at me and said, “Psssssssshhhhhh!”
I was angry, but I gotta say, the kid has excellent timing.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Geekboy Family Pet Update
Last summer, we adopted this kitten:
Remember her?
Actually it turned out she was a he. And he's now a big, fluffy, incredibly soft cat. Check him out:
I know. He's awesome, right? Technically, he’s still a kitten and he’s got the wild energy of a pre-schooler, which is good because we happen to have one of those living in our house too. The Bean likes chasing the cat around. But the cat doesn't seem to mind because he always comes back to hang out in whatever room we happen to be occupying. In fact, he's laying nearby right now.
Ginko, or as I like to call him the Gink, has displayed some idiosycracies, which makes him fit right in with our family. Lately, we've noticed that he has a bizarre compulsion to put things into his water dish. I've never seen a cat do this before. Just about every other day, we find a new object floating in the bowl. So far we’ve discovered the cap to a water bottle, a wrapper from a piece of string cheese, a loofah, toy mouse, toy ball, toy ribbon on a stick, the hangtag from a new piece of clothing and a playing card.
We have one weird feline.
We also have a fish. Actually we've had several fish. WonderWife™ thought it would be cool to hang a small fishtank on the wall and get a Betta for the Bean's room. Problem is, they keep dying on us. The first one croaked because of an unexpected cold snap and a broken heater. The second because WW™ had pregnancy brain and forgot to feed it. I have no idea what happened to the third. And frankly, the fourth looked like it was knocking on death's door when we got him. So rather than be forced to expose our son to the concept of death, we keep getting new ones.
Sushi 4.0 passed away earlier this week, but neither WW™ or I had time to replace him. So he had to sit on the bottom of the bowl for a day or so. I know, I know, it's gross. But it's not like we had a choice. Removing the bowl from the room would raise questions. As would a bowl sans fish.
The other night, I thought we were busted. The Bean looks at the fishbowl and asks, "What's Sushi doing?"
"He's sleeping," I replied. It was easy for the Bean to buy this because Sushi was nestled against the rocks on the bottom of the bowl. I had learned that Bettas sink when they die, rather than float, after the unfortunate passing of the original Sushi.
Amazingly, WW™ was able to take both kids to the pet store and buy a new fish without them realizing. However, Sushi 5.0's fins are much larger than the previous Sushi and the Bean has taken notice. The next morning, I overheard WW™ telling the Bean that the fish's fins are bigger because he's awake. So my son now believes that after a fish wakes up, it's fins double in size.
Remember her?
Actually it turned out she was a he. And he's now a big, fluffy, incredibly soft cat. Check him out:
I know. He's awesome, right? Technically, he’s still a kitten and he’s got the wild energy of a pre-schooler, which is good because we happen to have one of those living in our house too. The Bean likes chasing the cat around. But the cat doesn't seem to mind because he always comes back to hang out in whatever room we happen to be occupying. In fact, he's laying nearby right now.
Ginko, or as I like to call him the Gink, has displayed some idiosycracies, which makes him fit right in with our family. Lately, we've noticed that he has a bizarre compulsion to put things into his water dish. I've never seen a cat do this before. Just about every other day, we find a new object floating in the bowl. So far we’ve discovered the cap to a water bottle, a wrapper from a piece of string cheese, a loofah, toy mouse, toy ball, toy ribbon on a stick, the hangtag from a new piece of clothing and a playing card.
We have one weird feline.
We also have a fish. Actually we've had several fish. WonderWife™ thought it would be cool to hang a small fishtank on the wall and get a Betta for the Bean's room. Problem is, they keep dying on us. The first one croaked because of an unexpected cold snap and a broken heater. The second because WW™ had pregnancy brain and forgot to feed it. I have no idea what happened to the third. And frankly, the fourth looked like it was knocking on death's door when we got him. So rather than be forced to expose our son to the concept of death, we keep getting new ones.
Sushi 4.0 passed away earlier this week, but neither WW™ or I had time to replace him. So he had to sit on the bottom of the bowl for a day or so. I know, I know, it's gross. But it's not like we had a choice. Removing the bowl from the room would raise questions. As would a bowl sans fish.
The other night, I thought we were busted. The Bean looks at the fishbowl and asks, "What's Sushi doing?"
"He's sleeping," I replied. It was easy for the Bean to buy this because Sushi was nestled against the rocks on the bottom of the bowl. I had learned that Bettas sink when they die, rather than float, after the unfortunate passing of the original Sushi.
Amazingly, WW™ was able to take both kids to the pet store and buy a new fish without them realizing. However, Sushi 5.0's fins are much larger than the previous Sushi and the Bean has taken notice. The next morning, I overheard WW™ telling the Bean that the fish's fins are bigger because he's awake. So my son now believes that after a fish wakes up, it's fins double in size.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Androgynous Kitty
A few months ago, I rescued a feral kitten. After many trips to the vet, a few weeks quarantined in our bathroom, two soiled comforters, a “de-stressing” regime and a lot of TLC, our kitten has fully integrated into our lives and become a loved member of our family.
During the kitten’s first checkup, the vet turned the cat over and proclaimed it a girl. And so as a girl she’s lived…until a few days ago. It was WonderWife™ who first noticed bumps around the kitten’s nether regions when the kitty was lounging on her back on our couch. I took a gander as well and sure enough, there sat a couple of furry nuggets, which either suggested that our kitten had something seriously wrong with her or she had been living a lie.
A new vet appointment confirmed that the initial vet was mistaken. Our little girl cat is really a boy.
It almost doesn’t matter now since as of this morning the kitten’s newly discovered nads are sitting on a jar in an animal hospital somewhere in the Valley. I just wonder how the Bean is going to process that he needs to now refer to his kitten as a “he.”
During the kitten’s first checkup, the vet turned the cat over and proclaimed it a girl. And so as a girl she’s lived…until a few days ago. It was WonderWife™ who first noticed bumps around the kitten’s nether regions when the kitty was lounging on her back on our couch. I took a gander as well and sure enough, there sat a couple of furry nuggets, which either suggested that our kitten had something seriously wrong with her or she had been living a lie.
A new vet appointment confirmed that the initial vet was mistaken. Our little girl cat is really a boy.
It almost doesn’t matter now since as of this morning the kitten’s newly discovered nads are sitting on a jar in an animal hospital somewhere in the Valley. I just wonder how the Bean is going to process that he needs to now refer to his kitten as a “he.”
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Here Kitty Kitty
WonderWife™ and I are masochists who whole-heartedly believe that between a toddler who’s deep in the midst of the terrible twos and a constantly screaming newborn we don’t have enough to do in our lives. So we decided to adopt a kitten.
Last year, my cat M died. M and I had spent 9 years together and his death left a big crater in my life, as well as our other cat Reesie. Reesie is the feline equivalent of a teenage socialite. She’s cute, but she’s very demanding. She may very well be the loudest, whiniest cat on the face of the planet.
In the wake of M’s death, we tried to adopt another kitten, but found the process to be surprisingly difficult, as if we were trying to bring home an orphaned Chinese child or something. At the county shelters, there was a lot of red tape and regulations and many of the private run rescues were hesitant to let us adopt a cat because the Bean was a toddler—despite the fact that we already owned a cat and she was surviving living with a baby just fine. We eventually got a little gray ball of fluff from a crabby woman with a voice that sounded as if her morning routine consisted of gargling with gravel after finishing two packs of smokes and a whiskey. Unfortunately, this kitten decided that our entire house was its personal litter box and after a few months of me having to fastidiously check every corner of every room for little kitten surprises five times a day, WW™ got pregnant and we were forced to give it back. Pregnant women and cat feces aren’t a great combination.
A year had passed since and because of Sprout’s arrival, I’d pretty much started to accept that we had cemented our status as a one-cat family. That is until our neighbors discovered a mom cat and a litter of kittens living in their crawlspace. Now if you suddenly have a picture in your head of me chasing WW™ around pleading, “Can we have a kitten? Can we? I promise I’ll take care of it!” then you’d be wrong. In her infinite wisdom WW™ realized that because of our past kitten experience we are probably on some kitten adoption black list and that this litter just may be our only chance at another cat. So despite our lack of sleep, cluttered house and frazzled nerves, she asked me if we should take one home, knowing full well what my answer would be.
I happily spent the greater part of my Saturday trapping one of the kittens and taking her to the vet. The little thing is infested with fleas and hasn’t yet had all of her shots, so she’s currently living in a crate in our bathroom. In between changing poopie diapers, trying to coax a smile out of Sprout and chasing the Bean around, I’ve been changing the kitten’s urine soaked bedding, providing clean water and scooping a surprising amount of poop for an animal that weighs less than 2 pounds. Jules and I can no longer speak to each other in our bedroom at night because if the kitten hears us, she starts to meow. As I type this, I’m listening to the constant rhythmic “mew mew” coming from behind the bathroom door.
But it’s all worth it because WW™ and I are totally falling for this little creature. And as soon as the kitten's out of quarantine, I’m sure Reesie will too.
Last year, my cat M died. M and I had spent 9 years together and his death left a big crater in my life, as well as our other cat Reesie. Reesie is the feline equivalent of a teenage socialite. She’s cute, but she’s very demanding. She may very well be the loudest, whiniest cat on the face of the planet.
In the wake of M’s death, we tried to adopt another kitten, but found the process to be surprisingly difficult, as if we were trying to bring home an orphaned Chinese child or something. At the county shelters, there was a lot of red tape and regulations and many of the private run rescues were hesitant to let us adopt a cat because the Bean was a toddler—despite the fact that we already owned a cat and she was surviving living with a baby just fine. We eventually got a little gray ball of fluff from a crabby woman with a voice that sounded as if her morning routine consisted of gargling with gravel after finishing two packs of smokes and a whiskey. Unfortunately, this kitten decided that our entire house was its personal litter box and after a few months of me having to fastidiously check every corner of every room for little kitten surprises five times a day, WW™ got pregnant and we were forced to give it back. Pregnant women and cat feces aren’t a great combination.
A year had passed since and because of Sprout’s arrival, I’d pretty much started to accept that we had cemented our status as a one-cat family. That is until our neighbors discovered a mom cat and a litter of kittens living in their crawlspace. Now if you suddenly have a picture in your head of me chasing WW™ around pleading, “Can we have a kitten? Can we? I promise I’ll take care of it!” then you’d be wrong. In her infinite wisdom WW™ realized that because of our past kitten experience we are probably on some kitten adoption black list and that this litter just may be our only chance at another cat. So despite our lack of sleep, cluttered house and frazzled nerves, she asked me if we should take one home, knowing full well what my answer would be.
I happily spent the greater part of my Saturday trapping one of the kittens and taking her to the vet. The little thing is infested with fleas and hasn’t yet had all of her shots, so she’s currently living in a crate in our bathroom. In between changing poopie diapers, trying to coax a smile out of Sprout and chasing the Bean around, I’ve been changing the kitten’s urine soaked bedding, providing clean water and scooping a surprising amount of poop for an animal that weighs less than 2 pounds. Jules and I can no longer speak to each other in our bedroom at night because if the kitten hears us, she starts to meow. As I type this, I’m listening to the constant rhythmic “mew mew” coming from behind the bathroom door.
But it’s all worth it because WW™ and I are totally falling for this little creature. And as soon as the kitten's out of quarantine, I’m sure Reesie will too.
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