The last photo....

I was going through the photos in my camera, deleting ones that I no longer need, and came across this, the last photo I took of Marla (although other people may have later pictures.) According to the embedded data, this was taken on Jan. 31, five months and four or so days before she died.

This is the way I want to remember her - warm, fuzzy, bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

I don't know whether or not Marla is channeling herself through the other two cats, but they've been acting very Marla-like - staying with Jenn and I for long periods, even sleeping on the bed, sometimes for the entire night.

We were getting stuff at Target today and came across a travel pillow in the shape of a cat. I may get it.

A sticky situation....

From a friend, whom I sent a link of Marla and the Cat Fancy photo (and who took the photo):


I have so many great memories of MarMar and this was one of them that I had forgotten :)
Thank you for sharing it - it made me smile reading it. It took me some time to think of which memory I wanted to tell everyone about and I have finally figured out which one it is that MarMar would have liked for me to share :)

When we all were living at the house at Buermann Ave. and I had just started my sticker collection, I was in my room sprawled out on my bed with about a zillion stickers in front of me and an old fashioned photo album book on the bed. When I looked up to a noise of MERR, staring at me face to face was MarMar.

She looked at me then at the stickers all over the bed and then at the book and then back at me again and promptly laiddherself down across from me on the other side of the book, with her paw on some of the stickers as if to tell me to put that pile on the page I was working on first :)

She stayed with me on my bed until I had finished with my little project and it seemed she enjoyed sticker collecting because she always appeared each time I was working on the collection. :)

I will miss MarMar very much and am very glad I got to say my goodbyes to her. I do believe you are right though, she will always be with those she loves :) That's just her way :)


Unfortunately, my friend's cat - they now have a few, but _their_ cat - is now in the early stages of CRF, which is what Marla had. Not gaining weight, throwing up food... Sad part is, Drey is just 15, a long life to be sure, but Marla was just a month shy of 18.

It's been two weeks now. I still miss her dearly.

A stupid post....

This is Marla with Andy, the first dog she ever encountered. I won't get into what Andy used to do (all over the house...), but what came from living with Andy was that despite Marla being upset and hitting dogs, she never cursed.

Instead, she used the word "stupid," which she pronounced (and spelled) "stoopit." How this came about was that someone asked Marla what she thought about Andy.

"Well, he's a bit on the stoopit side...."

"Marla!"

"Well, he is," she said, and Marla was right. I often said Marla had only eight lives, because she gave one to Andy he was so stupid.

It got to the point where one would think Marla would start cursing, only to be cut off:

"What a stoopit way for the stoopit store to...."

"Marla!"

Or it would end with an unintelligible "Mrrph mrrph mrrph ratzenkatzen stoopit mrrph mrrph mrrph."

Andy was where Marla got into whacking dogs. The two got into a fight, and Andy's owner naturally grabbed the dog. Marla was like, "Oh, good. You hold him, Marla hit him." WHAM!

But can you blame Marla? She was minding her own business, probably licking her chops or wondering she left her magazine she was reading in the litter box, when all of a sudden:

"Look out Marla, I got no brakes!" ---> That from Andy, running full tilt across the floor.

"Huh?!" WHAM! a tumble of dog and cat, some growling, and when it all ended, Andy was on top of Marla.

"Thanks, Marla! You saved my life!"

To the sound of tweeting birds above her head, Marla replied, "No problem. Say, sport, would you mind giving Marla a paw?"

And Marla wasn't always mean. Andy always had to be in a cage overnight (again, don't ask...) and Marla thought he looked sad and bored. When Andy's owner saw him the next day, Andy had a picture book of cats in front of him. I said Marla did that to help Andy out.

Driving Miss Marla....

A friend noticed this kiddie car being thrown out, and suggested Marla might like it. I took a look at it, saw that it was in good condition - part of the roof had come loose - and more importantly, could fit in the back seat of my car.

Unfortunately, I could never get Marla to sit up in the car, as though she was driving or a passenger, though there was a blanket in it. But there was this shot, in which Marla is changing the oil.

I always pictured Marla as driving a staid, two-tone 1950s two-door sedan. I also pictured it as being tempermental (which is another story), which is when Marla's driving habits also changed.

Marla had a habit of being a bit wild, yelling out the window, "Get out of the way! You drive like Marla's grandmother!" when she was actually driving. She had a habit of holding a map upside-down (so much for being a Mouse Scout) with two paws, using her tail for steering, not looking up.

Despite this, she had a dislike for bad drivers. Marla would frequently appear in a driver's window, her face blackened, telling the driver, "Do you know you have an oil leak, sir?" (In real life, a car that was tailgating me one time and passed me at some ridiculous speed wound up on the side of the road with some sort of trouble... I had pictured Marla either hopping back in my car or sticking her tongue at him, wagging her paws in her ears.)

There's a hardware store by my parents' house which sells metal kiddie cars... Moo had the police car, because it was black and white like her; Cosmo had the pink airplane, because he's a pretty, not a handsome, cat; and Marla had the car with the racing flames on the side.

And for some reason, Marla's driver's license said she was like 103 on it... don't know why a cat would need a fake birthday on her license, don't wanna know.

One of the original Three Cats, Drey, also has a Marla story. I saw some driver leave a cup of coffee on their roof and I pictured Marla and Drey sitting on top of the car, passing a pot of coffee between the two of them. "Cheers!" "Cheers!" the other would say, clinking the cups together.

"Where are we going, Marla?"

"Oh, it matters not the destination, Drey. What matters is the journey. Cheers!"

One week....

One week has passed since Marla died.

As I noted, Marla's real life exploits rivaled that of her fictional self. She got a mention in Cat Fancy (December 1998, shown at right), something that I never did, and she was in the Asbury Park Press long before I started writing for them.

Part of the caption at right: "As if her roommate's cat, Marla Cat, knew what she was doing" - Mary was taking photos of the house for insurance purposes - "the cat ran up to her food cabinet and sat in front of it, as if to say, 'Hey, don't forget about my things!' "

Close enough - Marla would have said, "Hey don't forget about Marla's things!"

Seventy-three hundred....

I did some math the other night and realized that if I could come up with a story for almost every day of Marla's life, whether real or a Marlaism, that would be close to 7,300 stories (365 days * 20, to make it easy.)

I'm not going to number them, rather leaving the stories much like that Richard Wright novel I once read, where the stories all seem to flow together without chapter heds. Nor am I going to count them; when I'm done I will pronounce it so.

It's been getting easier as the days go on, but it's the little things that we miss. No more glancing over at a snoozing cat, then deciding that five more minutes of sleep would be good. No more sleeping on back, so Marla can sleep in the crook of my arm, head on the inside of my elbow. For that matter, no cold cat purring so loud we almost can't fall asleep, or cold cat sleeping underneath the covers (Jenn almost squished the poor kitty one time, as she didn't realize Marla was under the blankets with me.)

And Marla would be under the blankets the whole time, too.

I don't have a cat to say goodbye to in the morning, to tell to be good to the other people in the house (or occasionally, if Marla was left alone, to be told not to play the radio too loudly and annoy the neighbors.)

I don't have someone to tell me not to go to work. I'd tell her I have to, if she wanted cat food, and the next time I know I'd find myself locked outside the house. "Marla!" I'd call. "I don't even have my keys!" And then a window would open, a brown paw would drop a set of keys, and then PHOOM! the window would shut.

And it's the silly things, too. I didn't want to take restaurant leftovers with me from my parent's house partly because I indicated they were mine by writing my name and drawing a snoozing cat, complete with mouse or fish or both in a sleep bubble.

Now I don't have reason to draw that anymore.

Connections....

We're all connected.

Mom mentioned last night that about 3 p.m. Sunday she felt sad and didn't want to go in the house. She went out with my Dad and came back just shortly before I called to tell her Marla died earlier, about 5 p.m. that day.

Things like this happen in my family. I'm thinking Marla's periodic yowls on Sunday were not cries of pain, but her way of talking to various people. She always was a talkative cat, both in meows and in stares.

I remember one time Marla was meowing and Tim didn't know what she wanted. I came downstairs, she meowed at me, and I said, "Oh, OK, here it is," picked her up and showed her where the litter box was. (It was always in a certain spot in my parent's house but Marla forgot.)

"How do you know what she wanted?" Tim asked.

"You just do," I replied.

Got a reply from Dr. Briggs:

Of course I remember you & Marla :) ...and thank you so much for your kind words. I am truly sorry for your loss.....18 years is a reflection of your care & for that I commend you! Thank you also for your donation of food to those other needy cats that we see.
I'll be sure a paper note goes out in the mail to you this week-
CHeers-
DOcB

A little easier....

A little easier, but still hard. I slept OK last night, and was able to look at pictures last night without crying. I'll start posting them here.

It's difficult also because Cosmo and Moo are, well, so cat-like. We haven't bonded, and their main concern is getting fed. Neither sleeps on our bed with any regularity, or if they do, for any long periods of time. They don't greet us at the door, they don't miss us when we return after a long time, they don't ask for people food, they don't respond to being whistled at or follow people around - all of which Marla did.

I tried tracking down the girl from whom I got Marla from. I found an e-mail address that might be it, and sent a note asking if she was the same Marla from Lakewood and if she remembered me, nothing more.

I also sent a note to Dr. Briggs, Marla's vet most of the time, telling her of her passing and that I donated some of Marla's favorite foods - a case of 24 cans - to Ocean Co. Vet Hospital, which also has a boarding facility.

Three Marla stories from the vet:

Marla apparently didn't want to be there one year, and started running off the exam table. "Look, Doc. Marla feeling absolutely fine, nothing wrong. In fact, Marla can run real fast. Watch!" Without breaking off talking to me, or looking down, the vet caught Marla just as she was about to jump off the table. That was one surprised cat....

One of the last times I went the vet realized Marla was getting up in years and started palpitating her front paws. Never had I seen such an indignant look on her face. "Marla is not a dancing bear from the circus, put the cat down!"

Dr. Briggs returned from giving Marla's stool sample to the tech to be analyzed. He greeted Marla with, "OK, Marla, you're poo sample is spinning around now at 45 RPM," or whatever the speed of those machines are. I think Marla just rolled her eyes at him....

Quietness

Though Marla was getting loud in her old age, howling at strange hours, sometimes she could be quiet enough and just seemingly show up out of nowhere, much like the X-Men's Lockheed, only without the "bamf!" and smell of sulfur.

I always said that the cats were using closets as "tellerportation" chambers or elevators where they could go from one room to another.

But it's been too quiet the last two nights. Jenn keeps expecting Marla to greet her at the door, as do I. No more watching TV with Marla sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, just staring at me, or stretching out or putting two paws on the couch (which is how she got the nickname Pop Tart.)

Jenn and I were having dinner last night and she started to cry. "This is the perfect size of a chicken piece," she said. "I don't have anybody to share my chicken with anymore."

Maybe I should have enclosed a Chinese restaurant menu for Marla - although it would have made for a long delivery. Marla loved boneless spare ribs (and duck, although she hadn't had it for a long while) ... OK, almost any people food. Even if she didn't eat it Marla thought it rude if you didn't offer it to her.

Among the culinary exploits:

I was eating sour cream and onion potato chips at my first apartment and Marla was on the floor looking up at me. "What, you want to try some?" I offered, and to my surprise, she did eat the chip and asked for more.

She swiped her paw in a Doritos bag, licked it, and proceeded to lick her chops for a few minutes afterward. I think Marla learned her lesson.

I had to go away for a weekend once, and left Marla free reign of the apartment, rather than have her stay in my room. I left extra food out, but to my surprise when I came back, Marla made her own dinner. She hopped on the counter, knocked down a box of cat treats, took in in the bedroom, chewed a hole in it, and ate all the treats. (She did the same thing with some cat treats in a candy cane-shaped Christmas present that also held cat toys for her.)

Strangely, Marla liked the breading of chicken nuggets but didn't want the chicken. Tried telling her, "Marla, it's bird!" Nope.

But the best food story that I recall was when I was having spaghetti and eating it in the bedroom (I had a very small first apartment.) Marla hopped on the bed, walked onto the plate, which I had put down) and started licking at it!

I brushed her off the bed, she did a somersault and landed on the floor, licking her chops. It was as if she was saying, "Mmmmmm, good. Worth getting knocked off the bed."

That led to another Marlaism. That whenever she got caught with food she wasn't supposed to, Marla would look up and say, "Heh heh heh. Uhhhh.... it was good!," followed by her paw to the head and a "No no no no! Bad Marla, bad Marla, not supposed to say that, supposed to apologize!"

You know....

Sometimes, thing don't work out as you want them to. I had been planning for Marla's funeral since December 2008/January 2009, the last time we took her to the vet. From an e-mail I sent to friends at that time:

-----
Marla is officially old.

That should come as no surprise, considering she's 16 years old and some months. She's sleeping more every day, and I think she has some difficulty seeing at night, because sometimes I have to show her where the food is if the light isn't on.

Last night, though we had to take her to the vet. She had been jumping and out of the litter box yesterday, and leaving drops of urine all over the house.

The result, though is somewhat puzzling. Her thryoid and blood tests were normal, the only thing abnormal is that she's lost four pounds in as many years and her kidneys are small. So there's a possibility that she's in the very early stages of kidney disease, typical in older cats. We know she's doesn't have kidney failure.

The vet felt comfortable letting Marla go home, and she's meowing her head off at times, and acting like she usually does. She also has some medication, so we're seeing how she does once all of it is gone.

One thing we're not doing is getting an ultrasound - never mind the expense. She's lived a long and good life, and she's not in pain.

I hope she lives a year or two more. We're taking things one day at a time, and I'll take that one more day. But I said my first goodbye to her last night, and I told her to let me know when it's time to let her go.

Hart

-----

I had planned for Marla to be cremated, with part of the ashes being buried with my brother Danny, the other part to be launched from a beach tied to half a dozen helium balloons, along with a photo of my brother (so Marla could recognize him when she got to heaven), two pennies, her paisley mouse, and a card to Danny.

Of that plan, she was buried in the backyard with a can of her favorite food - ocean whitefish - as well as the two pennies.

I always pick up dropped change - usually pennies, but sometime other coins, and on Saturday it was a quarter - and I always called the change "Marla's bubblegum money." In my imagination - or maybe in the cat world - a penny was enough for a pawful of bubblegum, enough to last an afternoon. (Imagine my surprise when in North Carolina I did find a penny candy store.)

The two pennies for bubblegum were one for her, one for my brother Danny. I did enclose a card for Danny, telling him that Marla had taken care of me for the past almost 18 years. now it was my turn to take care of Marla by helping her find her way to heaven and entrusting her to Danny.

I couldn't find her paisley mouse that was her favorite toy, but I found another mouse which I tucked underneath her paw. I asked Marla for her forgiveness at not being able to find her favorite toy, and for all the times I couldn't spend with her and had to leave her alone.

At Marla's burial I read the following:

"O dear Lord, we thank you for Marla, and for all the goodness, beauty, and love in her life that fulfilled your purpose for her, and that made our lives richer for her presence. We thank you for love given and for love received; for friendship, for the joys and for the struggles shared; for all of the special things about Marla that endeared her to so many. Keep tender in our hearts these memories. Grateful for this life you have given us, help us to give it back into your hands."

What I had written that January, unfinished and which went unsaid for now was:

-----
I remember when I got Marla, from a friend who’s her namesake. Said friend told me, “There was a boy kitten, but I wanted to get you a cat that was more active.”

She wasn’t kidding. After a while, Marla (the cat) felt she had enough of the TV room and wanted to explore the rest of the house, and dashed for the stairs. I caught her just in time – for both her and myself, because I looked up and saw the looming steps which I came close to smacking my head against.

Marla’s a little more than 16 – in human years, she’d be 80, according to one conversion chart I’ve seen. In that time, she’s appeared in the Asbury Park Press and Cat Fancy, and been written up in the book “Cat Caught My Heart.”

I’ve seen her play with her favorite paisley mouse (and be upset when the vacuum cleaner cut off its tail), as well as catch a real one for the first time about three years ago. We’ve gone for car rides, and visits to the pet store, and one time Marla decided that I needed to go for a walk. She led me down the stairs and to the curb before I told her we had to head back. I never did find out where she was going that night.

And now her active days are over, at least here. But a new journey begins, where Marla can bring as much joy and love to those who watch over us as she did during her life on Earth.

There are two clichés which are true: Every one who’s been blessed to be owned by a pet will say that their pet was the best there was. The other is that time goes by so fast.

There are plenty of Marla stories. Sometimes I think I could recite a story a day for every year of her life, if I could only remember them all.

Probably the best-known Marla story, in terms of number of people, was that Marla was actually Lt. (j.g.) Marlaina Elisabeth Sastrowardoyo, a member of Starfleet: The International Star Trek Fan Association.

Few knew that Marla was a cat (not “just a cat,” Marla would say.) She “took” Officer Training School, earning an automatic commission to ensign, then Officer Command College and Starfleet Academy College of Medicine’s initial course.

Perhaps ironically, Marla was a member of the SEALS team on board the USS Stargazer (CA-2893) chapter. She then transferred to the Stellar Wind (CH-1501) and Stellar Wind-A, where she became a j.g. and chief of the Medical Support division, before transferring to Station Shadowstar (SFR-721).

Other ‘fleeters played along, claiming to have seen Marla at one convention or another, one ‘fleet function or another. She even had a pen pal – or should that be a paw pal – in Jon Kus, before – shall I say it? – the cat was let out of the bag.

In reality, Marla was just as active, having moved many, many times with me. When the place I was staying didn’t allow for pets, Marla became the office cat for a while. It wasn’t long before I opted to spend most, if not all, my nights sleeping in the office just so the two of us would be together.

I did that willingly because she was my buddy and my best friend. Years later, when I moved to the place I live in now, I was told by my then-future mother-in-law that Marla cried the first day I and my then-fiancee left the house to go to work.

In that house, I watched as the days crept on Marla. I always suspected that would be the last place she’d live. She started sleeping more and more and though always hungry, eating less. During the night, she’d started howling – on more than one occasion, Marla’s howls would sound like a ‘hello.’ I joked that perhaps there was a ghost in the house, but in reality I knew that what I suspected was true.

The ghost was really the spirit of my brother Danny, who came to give Marla a pat on the head. He wasn’t there to take her, but to comfort her, telling Marla that her job was done, she didn’t need to watch over her people any more.

The night I brought Marla home from the vet and sat her down in the pen I told her I wanted one last favor from her – to let me know when it was time to let her go.

The first of many days

My bestest friend in the whole world died on July 4. My cat Marla died just one month shy of 18, most likely from kidney failure.

I'm not sure how long I'll keep this, or keep this going. But for now, it's a place to remember Marla and her life. If things seem a bit random, that's the flow of thinking.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marla - full name Marlaina Elisabeth - was named after two friends who gave her to me shortly after I moved to New Jersey. My two friends were Jewish, so I often said that Marla was, too - the first of many "Marlaisms" to come.

I figured out since then that Marla must have been born in August, as she was a "Chanukah" present to me. Marla had at least one brother. I distinctly remember being told that my two friends opted instead for the girl cat because she was more active - as I found out when Marla hopped out of my arms, headed up the stairs, and I went to grab her, only to see a looming stair tread coming at my face.

Yup, on our first encounter, I almost got knocked out cold trying to keep up with Marla.

And on the last day, Marla again tried to jump out of my arms. She also jumped off the lounger and took two steps before falling over. I distinctly heard a Marla voice, in her typical third-person, "Marla meant to do that. Marla not feeling so good, but Marla just needs her rest now, Dad."

Crazy cat. And right now Marla is in heaven, driving everybody else crazy, especially my brother Danny, asking for food (especially people food), chasing her stuffed toy mouse, just like she used to.