Eulogy For A Lost Companion

It's interesting how a death can put so much in perspective. It seems almost designed for personal reflection, and the digging up of old memories. Even more interesting, is that these same results can come by one who is not even human, in my case, my cat of fifteen years.

Writing this, I am still in emotional ebb and flow, as no more then an hour ago (at the time of this very sentence), I had my long time companion put down, returning her to the unconscious from which all consciousness most likely came.

Fifteen years is quite the chunk of change. That is more then half of my entire life-span spent with my tolerant, semi-compassionate friend. Not only was that the majority of my life, but also the most tumultuous, experiential, and impactful times, as she joined my life right at the onset of the dramatic teenage years, and the physiological changes experienced during puberty.

I can still remember the day she was born. I was there at the very moment she first opened her eyes. Damn, I sound like a parent recalling a child's early years after they have grown up and left the nest. And she has left the nest, but also the tree the nest was in.

Is it at all strange to create such strong bonds with creatures who cannot directly communicate with or understand us? Many of us feel very attached to our little pets, some going a bit overboard trying to dress them in people clothes and whatnot. Could it be the natural instinct for nurturing? We have a being that elicits affection from us, as they resemble the same sort of youthful innocence we see in our own offspring. It could make some sense that the same visual cues that make our brains feel connected to our kin, could work for that of another species.

Hobbes was always a sweet girl. Never fussy or quick to anger. Honestly one of the most passive and tolerant cats I had ever known, though for whatever reason she never seemed to like my head being right next to hears, as she would lean back away from you if you attempted such a rash move. Later we called this the "heads near heads" theory, which she was obviously not a fan of. She was also quite the little huntress in her prime, catching all manners of small mountain animals from birds mice and chipmunks, to rabbits, and even the odd hummingbird (which shows her skill quite adeptly I'd say). I can't even count the times I had woken up in the morning and opened my door, only to find a pile of feathers and unidentifiable leftovers from her morning kill. A gift, I'd think to myself. Then came the fun of the cleaning and scrubbing of the blood out of the carpet.

She slept with me every night that I was home. When she was young, I'd go find her before I went to bed, as the mere presence of her on the bed was somehow soothing and seemed to help me fall asleep. Later in life, she would instinctually know when I was about to "hit the ol' hay", and soon, there she was, scratching at my bedroom door, or, most often, waiting on the bed for me. I'm sure there is nothing out of the ordinary about that, but it doesn't change the fact that I appreciated it, and felt we had some sort of trans-species rapport.

Her downfall came about five years ago, when she came in from her usual romp outside, but this time, dragging her right hind leg behind her. To this day I still don't know what could have happened to her, as she was pretty used to climbing trees and mountains. I soon took her to the vet to have surgery performed to reset her broken leg. The recovery was a sorry sight. Hobbes with a big stiff cast on her leg, her maneuverability piss poor (as they say). I converted my bed into a simple mattress on the floor during this time, just for her, so she could lay with me. During this time, she developed the unpleasant habit of urinating on any piece of clothing that touched the floor more more then a few seconds. This could be my fault for not being so expedient with cleaning her overstocked litter box, or she could have found a new creative outlet playing connect four with her natural ammonia.

The last few years for Hobbes have been a bit challenging for her. The leg that we spent decent money on to fix, never seemed to have healed properly, resulting in a silly looking (and I'm sure irritating) kind of limp. She could get still around, but no more jumping to or from high places anymore. She still was able to jump on the bed and lay with me at night, and I still appreciated having companionship, especially when I was not doing so well with the complicated human version of the same situation.

Her last few months she took on the guise of an invalid patient at a long term care facility. She needed my attention more then ever, needing to be on my lap any time I sat down to work on a project, and whining and meowing non-stop. Part of the time I could feel flattered that she wanted to be around me so much, but most of the time it was just plain frustrating to deal with, I freely admit.

Three days ago I came home to vomit stains all across the apartment. Annoying, sure, but this does happen from time to time. What made me think something else was up, was when I found her on the bed, looking like she was in a daze, meowing the most sorrowful, and mournful cries I'd ever heard from her. She did not eat, she would not drink, all I could do was to clean up the occasional vomit and try to comfort her. Three more days of this and I knew she was fading out. She could barely walk or move. Her cries turned to light gasps, emitting no sound, but air. Her eyes were dilated and distant. It was the last decision I wanted to make for my long time companion, and it took me the better part of an hour to make myself do it. So, at around 11:30 am on Wednesday, January 7th, 2009, Hobbes, my dependable friend, the listener of my witty repartees, the girl who was with me through most of the turbulent changes in my life, was put to sleep. And yes, I cried a bit in the car on the way home without her.

My chin is actually quivering a bit when I write that. Seems kinda pathetic doesn't it? I know that eulogies are not for the person you intend them for. After all, they're dead. No, it's for the person saying it. Will my cat have ever understood that I cared about her and valued her? Will she ever know she brought me moments of solace and comfort? Would she even care if she did? Who knows. Questions to which we shall not know the answer. However, I can know that I felt this way, and that I know how impactful another creature can be, and has been to me personally. And since I am the one still living, that is what matters.

You've been a wonderful cat despite your quirks and propensity towards urine and my clothing. Although It's funny looking back now. You've given me your version of love when I was unable to find it in others of my own species. I will miss you with all of my heart, and send all of my clever one-liners and plays-on-words your way.

Goodbye Hobbes.