Tuesday, March 16, 2010
There he is or was, Sir Rocky in his favourite spot on our bed — my side of course. His malformed paw is prominent. Once upon a time I had thought that the pain in that paw would become so bad that life for him would be problematic beyond ten years. But it never happened. He fooled us; despite much limping about, he never seemed to worry at it. Always seemed content with his lot.
After he came to stay with us when he was about five years old, he kept his distance from me for about a half year. He wasn't cowering or hightailing it, but he wasn't particularly friendly either. One fine summer day in the garden, that all changed, and I seemed to become his favourite human. In turn, he became my favourite cat — ever!
In eleven years together, we had a lot of good lap talks, The Rocks and I. In these last few years, in deference to his age, I frequently told him what a good cat he had been. He always seemed to agree.
But he had become sick this past month or more, throwing up almost every day, sometimes more than once. It was time to speak our last words.
He will be missed. Missed: helping me read and do puzzles. Missed: purring on my lap. Missed: helping with my computer tasks. Missed: his insistent pleas for his morning tuna — human tuna, if you please, Sir. Missed: his frequent calls for cat milk. Missed: his pesterings for human snacks — chips, cheesies, toast, and even bran muffins if you please.
He loved a good rump rub. After he had passed quietly this morning, the vet turned him on his side and left us alone for to say my final words. His eyes were open, and he looked as though he were positioned for another rump rub. He loved those rump rubs, but through my tears I was unable to comply.
His passing was pretty easy for him, but it was hard for me. So very hard. My final words weren't much more than sobs.
Bye Buddy. Thanks for listening through those eleven years. Right now, I wish we could have at least one more quiet talk. You and I.