When the mailman rang our apartment buzzer this morning, I was expecting one of the items I had recently ordered from eBay, a retro-bowling clock or a nifty vinyl bracelet. What I had to sign for was Moo’s ashes. Cremation number 55542 according to the label pasted on the wooden box that Pet’s Rest had provided to store my cat of eighteen years in.
Eighteen years of lap-demanding, sleeping with, morning meows, home-from-work hellos, four o’clock feed-me-dinner demands, and playing chase. Eighteen years of talking with, yelling at, meowing beside, singing about, and crying to. Eighteen years of life spent side by side
with my cat, my Moo.
I look at this small wooden box, this container that houses my best friend and feel empty and sad. I know I should be happy that we had eighteen years together, but I’m greedy and want more. I wasn’t ready for Moo to leave, though ultimately it was my decision that she should go.
About a month ago, Moo seemed a bit off, (strange meowing and just not looking herself), so I finally made an appointment to take her to a vet. Well, to condense about three weeks into a couple of sentences, Moo’s kidneys weren’t functioning properly and after trying to “kick start” them with fluid therapy it was obvious that she wasn’t getting any better. She had stopped doing all things “Moo”, like grooming, eating and looking like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary.
Looking into Moo’s half closed eyes, I knew I couldn’t let her get worse. She was a trooper, but she sure wasn’t loving life anymore. So the decision was made, a very nice Dr. Bolivar came to the apartment, I tied my ying yang medallion around Moo’s neck, and then my companion of eighteen years showed up in a wooden box this afternoon.
I can’t express how much this cat was a part of my life. The quiet that has replaced her is deeply heard. She will be missed for all her normality’s, forever remembered because of her quirks, and eternally loved for all the “moo-ness” she brought to our lives.
Thanks for the moo-times,
| Moo |
| 30, Apr 2004 |
| Christopher Duke |