'Old blue eyes....

USA Today had a nice article from a reporter who lost his cat after 10 years to cancer:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/pets/2010-09-21-sinatra21_CV_N.htm

An excerpt:


How do you sum up 10 years of a life?

I'm a better dad because of Sinatra. The responsibility of caring for something totally reliant on your love and attention is good training for any future parent, with many side lessons in the values of playtime and patience.

If Jill or I were sad, sick or hurting, Sinatra could always be counted on to offer a nudge of his head or a lick from his sandpaper tongue. The greatest thing he taught me was that simply being together was enough.

He was our everyday, the mischievous little fellow spread out across the fabric of daily life. Among the thousands of things I miss now that he's gone, most of all is him running to meet me at the door, eager to be picked up.

Like with any great pet, to hold him was to know that you were home


I sent an e-mail to the author:


I read your article on Sinatra, your cat. My condolences on your loss; I lost my cat, my best friend, Marla this July 4th. She was 17. As with Sinatra, the end came suddenly. I knew Marla was getting old, always hungry but never seeming to eat enough. One week she was doing great. Then she went downhill over the weekend. We believe Marla was waiting for all her people - my mother-in-law had been away for the week - to come home before she died. Even then she was a fighter, taking a step before collapsing, as if to tell us, "It's OK. Feel great, just need a little rest, that's all."

Like you, I have many stories about Marla, and I swear I can probably tell a story for each day of the 17 years I had her. Some of them are on www.remembermarla.blogspot.com, which I unfortunately don't get to update as often as I would like to or should.

My wife and my in-laws were surprised that, like Sinatra, Marla had her whistle and would come running when called. They were also surprised that Marla was so "dog-like" and would not only follow me around the house - as she got older, though, her visits upstairs to our bedroom got fewer and fewer - but would just sit and look up at me when I was in the family room watching TV. Not lying down - just sitting up. No matter my schedule, Marla would seem to know when I was coming home, waiting by the door. "That cat just loves you," my wife would say, never quite understanding why Marla would bond with her in the same way.

"You have someone that's been a part of your life for 17 years," I said. It's simple, but true. Marla and I moved at least six or seven times since we had each other, and through it all we were each other's constant. One place I moved to didn't allow pets, so Marla became the office cat for a while - this is when I worked for another (non-Gannett) paper - and after a while, I slept in the office so we could be together.

Thanks again for your article. Like you, when Marla's heart stopped, a part of mine did as well.

It's here....

Having some trouble getting the grave marker done - I keep on getting outbid for it, but there's another one I'm interested in if it doesn't work out - but Marla's plaque arrived today.

The hole on the right was a custom change, no charge. I'm going to put in one of the pennies I found in there, "Marla's bubble-gum money."

Remembering Marla....

Finally decided on an outdoor memorial marker for Marla - looks nice, and it was only $20 not including shipping.

I want to go with this style and font. On the left will either be a picture of Marla - same as one my memorial plaque - or a generic cat, if it can't be done. On the right will be Marla's name, 1992-2010, and "Sleep well Marla, until we meet again / Always missed - Always loved." Maybe I'll also include our names at the bottom.

Finally....

Finally got enough money to get a memorial plaque for Marla, the image of which is here. I went through my photos, and saw that one caught a really nice framed picture of her - and was in a brief state of panic wondering where it was, because I had moved so much.

Luckily, I found the photo I want to use, which is on my nightstand. The poem reads:

There's something missing in my home,
I feel it day and night.
I know it will take time and stength,

before things feel quite right.
But just for now, I need to mourn,

my heart - it needs to mend.
Though some may say its's "just a pet,"

I know I lost my friend.
You've brought such laughter to my home
and richness to my days...

A constant friend through joy and loss

with gentle loving ways.
Companion, pal and confidant,

a friend I won't forget,

you'll live for always in my heart,

my sweet forever pet.

I'll pay for this first. I saw a grave marker for Marla. I wanted something nice but not too nice, since unfortunately when we do move we won't be able to take Marla or the marker with us. I'm also on the lookout for a nice wooden box, a little bigger than the Rollerblade box Marla was placed in. When I get that box, I'll also get a nice tag to place on top as well.

The other day I had my first Cosmoism.

I've been trying to bond with Cosmo and Moo; it helps that I have treats. So they've been doing the "up" command and Cosmo is starting to talk a little now.

I've always said that if the three of them were to have beds (with their names engraved at the footboard, of course), Marla would be sleeping with a paisley mouse; Cosmo, a teddy bear, and Moo with a stuffed hoagie. When Cosmo sleeps on his back with one of his paws curled you could swear he really does have a teddy bear.

The other night I was pondering what Cosmo would name his teddy bear. He'd give it some strange name like George or Duck, and then it occurred to me: Duck is the perfect name for it!

You see, the other cats would make fun of Cosmo. "Ho ho ho," they'd say. "What kind of a name is 'Duck' for a teddy bear?" And then Cosmo would say, "Duck!" The other cats would go, "Huh?" and WHAM! they'd get hit on top of their heads with Cosmo's teddy bear.

Marla would be so proud of him. And it fits right in, since I envision The Three New Cats always in the principal's office.

"OK," I sighed. "What happened this time?" as if I didn't know.

"The other cats made fun of them...." the principal began.

"I bit one of them on the ankle," said Cosmo.

"And I smacked them on the side of their face," said Marla.

"Moo?" I asked.

"I ate their lunch," said Moo, patting her belly and moving a toothpick in her mouth.

"They're excellent students otherwise," the principal said.

"I know, I know," I said. "Let's go home, guys."

The little things....

Today we threw out the box that formerly held Marla's favorite cat food, which were given to Cosmo and Moo and who presumably finally finished it. I looked at the box - it held 24 cans of Friskies Classic Pate, including Ocean Whitefish, Marla's favorite flavor - and turned it over in my hands before pitching it into the Robocan.

I had donated a similar, full or almost full box to the vet. When Marla was really hungry, and seemingly couldn't get enough food, she used to go through almost two cans a day. In the last few days, she wouldn't eat even half a can.

I distinctly remembering buying one of those two last boxes - my mom may have given me the other one. Classic Pate was the only kind Marla (sort of) could keep down, and I remember foregoing getting myself a sandwich or a soda just so Marla could have her favorite food.

It wasn't easy the first time Jenn and I went to the pet store and saw that they had sale of it. And when we went to my parent's house for the first time after Marla died, Jenn said, "Thank God she didn't have any small cans of cat food."

But my mom still has a litter box in the garage, for when Marla used to visit, so I didn't have to bring one. I don't know what to do with that.



The other night Moo was on the bed, allowing us to pet her and play with her. Moo sheds, and because she's black and white - hence her nickname - black fur was flying all over the place.

"Brush her,'' Jenn said.

"I don't have a brush," I replied.

"I thought you had one up here."

"Not anymore," I said softly. "It got packed away," with the rest of Marla's things.

"Oh," was all Jenn could say.