I had to put my cat to sleep yesterday after a long battle with the feline version of Crohn’s disease. It was possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. At least, it feels that way, being so recent and raw.
I know too many people will wonder, “Why so many tears over a cat? Just get another one!” I don’t know how to make anyone understand the loss, and I don’t know that I want them to. It’s like a part of me died. She wasn’t a pet. I’ve had pets, and they always caused a bit of sadness with their passing, and then ended up being tossed away like garbage. She wasn’t a pet like that. This is entirely different on every level.
Ghostie Schroedinger Holland came into my life in the winter of 1997, late February. She was barely a couple of weeks old, fitting in the palm of my hand. I was walking to my apartment, and noticed this tiny white fluffball bouncing through the snow across the street a couple of blocks down. I didn’t dwell on it, because it always broke my heart to see kittens in that harsh weather. I went through the locked gate, then down the alley, and through the heavy locked door into the building. Not 10 minutes later, a tiny mewing came from the other side of my door. She had seen me from down the street, followed me, slipped through the gate, and somehow got through the building door. My heart went out, and she was mine, roommate be damned. All furry and pure white against the snow, I thought, “She looks like a ghost.”
She had to be quarantined until she could get a checkup, so she wouldn’t give any diseases to the roommate’s cats. I put her int the bathroom, but the cats kept hissing under the door at her, so my roommate wanted me to further quarantine her. I took a large box and put her in it with some food and water, put some small holes in it, and taped it shut. I came back to the bathroom 20 minutes later to find her perched atop it, whilst it remained taped shut. That when I knew she didn’t just look like a ghost. She was Ghost. Ghostie Schroedinger Holland – The Cat In The Box.
Our bed was lofted 5 feet up in this apt (for space reasons), so the top edge of the mattress barely met the top edge of my bedroom doorframe. She would sleep up there in our bed a lot, but the cutest thing was when we would come home. She would squeeze her little head between the mattress and the top of the doorjamb to see who came in. That’s what the following picture is of…
She hated other cats, but loved people, and me most of all. She would hiss at and protect me from wicked girlfriends, and approve of good ones. She would follow me from room to room all day, sitting by my shower, watching me use the bathroom, sitting in my lap, and eventually sleeping in my arms as I read my self to sleep, not leaving until I woke in the morning. This was every day and night, with almost no exception, for 12 1/2 years. She loved more than most people ever have.
She’s lived in Chicago, Texas, Memphis, and Paducah. She has seen girlfriends come and go, my Father and friends pass away, me almost get married, and me get into troubles of youth. She has had an endless stream of co-habitating cats of roommates to hiss at, and laser pointers to chase. Throughout this grand adventure I took across the U.S., she has been my only witness the whole way. She was my co-pilot. And she has now disembarked the plane…
I have a few more tears to shed and an urn to buy now…
