It’s a sad day for our family today.
It’s the Monday of a long weekend – Victoria Day – and traditionally the kick-off to summer, And, continuing in the tradition of long weekends hereabouts, it’s raining.
Seems like too many long weekends start out promising – and end up cold and rainy. My daughter came back from a camping trip this morning. The tent, tarps, and other camping gear are spread out in the garage in the hopes they will dry out before too long. But they had a great time and I hear they put up an ingenious roof system with a couple of tarps that kept the rain off and allowed the campfire smoke to curl upwards to where it should go. BC campers are a resilient bunch!
But that doesn’t make for a sad day.
Our cat, Pussypoo (a strange name, but it stuck) is about 16 years old. In human terms that puts him well into his eighties.
He’s been a traveller, top cat in the neighbourhood, a great hunter (he would survey the open fields from his perch on top of a fencepost – of course this was before the fields and woods were turned into rows of suburban homes), and an affectionate pet.
True, over the last few years he relinquished much of his status and settled a bit more into the background. He stayed at home more but still kept our other cat brats in their place and exhibited appropriate disdain for our chihuahua, Minnie Mae. More recently, he’d become less sprightly in his movements and more cumudgeonly in his attitude. But he still came around for his regular cuddle. (Purr…, purr….)
Then yesterday morning his energy was gone; by this morning he could barely find the strength to move about from place to place. A visit to the vet – he shook his head. We lost Pussypoo this afternoon.
Maybe just a cat, but simply being together for fourteen years builds bonds. We had the whole family to share our sadness and be happy knowing that, for a cat, Pussypoo really did have a great life. We’ll miss him.
If I never loved, I never would have cried. from I am a Rock, Simon & Garfunkel
This is from our family website back in 1999 (before we all had blogs):
Our cat, Cat, …or is it Pussypoo…, has really settled in
Nicole discovered Pussypoo as one of the wild strays at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm last summer. White and fluffy, she somehow didn’t really fit in with the other farm cats. Nicole tamed her down and when it was time to leave, she couldn’t leave without …Fluffy. Well, she seemed completely at home travelling in the motorhome, loved it, as a matter of fact.
When she visited the vet on the way home, it turned out she was a he, and not wild at all. Anyway, Fluffy didn’t seem to suit a ‘he’ and no name really stuck, so he’s Pussypoo now. We don’t know where he originally came from, but from the way he likes lying on the dashboard during road trips, we figure he got lost during someone else’s motorhome trip through the area.
but he is not too crazy about taking baths……!