An ending

When I first met him, it was a terrible winter in Columbus, Ohio. The back yard was frozen over with at least a solid inch of ice, and the ice lasted for over a month. And this skinny little black cat came up to the door, meowing.

My brain ran through the possibilities. If you feed a stray, you might as well take him inside... he'll never leave. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't take him inside. We already had more cats than the landlord allowed.

But the poor guy was so cold... I picked him up and put him inside my coat. If I could at least warm him up for a while, well, that'd be something.

Luckily, I had a boss who understood. When I came in late to work, explaining why, she would have been more upset if I hadn't stopped to warm him up.

He was there the next day, too. What could I do? I put him in my coat again.

He soon decided that this was his home I suppose. He didn't stop coming by. Eventually, he snuck into Chris's car, and jumped out about five miles away, and we figured that was the end... but he found his way back.

I think, at that point, we decided we had to feed him. He'd more or less chosen us, and where else whas he going to go?

We brought him in, we de-flea-d him, and he grew.

Chris named him Chibi, after a tiny little black cat in an anime. But "chibi" means "small" and he topped out at about 20 pounds. It was a good name, anyway, and it's the name he had for over 15 years.

Fifteen years of hunting for scritches, and flopping next to people begging for pets, and laying on top of my chest, and purring ... always purring when someone took the time to give him a cuddle.

He was patient and playful and gentle. You could give him a pill or liquid without wrapping him in a towel, becuase he didn't like it, but he only struggled, he never fought.

But he'd been going downhill... not surprising for a cat who was at least 16 years old.

Monday, the stress I felt over his condition gave me a massive headache. Was it time, or could I wait? And Tuesday, I decided that a massive headache meant I could call off from work... I was sick, after all. I was too sick to work effectively.

We didn't do much. He was past his time for playing. We watched some TV, and the Stephen King flick "Cat's Eye" because Chibi would totally rescue a young girl from a tiny troll, and he wouldn't need a record player and a fan to finish the bastard off... at least, not in his prime. And I cuddled him, and he still purred for me a bit. But mostly, I felt his warmth and his heartbeat, and I thought it was awfully close. When Chibi can't purr, something had to be terribly wrong.

Over the past week, he had gotten confused and he'd get caught in narrow spaces. His back legs were too weak to let him back up, so he'd keep pawing away at whatever was in front of him. I tried closing them off, but he got caught behind doors. Or, rather, caught in doorways. Which was symbolic, I suppose, but then... well, then he got caught in the trashcan in my bathroom.

And it was like asking a question. Was I going to let my cat die, like a piece of trash that's been tosed aside, trapped and alone? Or was I going to make sure that he had someone who loved him standing by at the end?

There's only one answer to a question like that. So this morning, at 9, Chibi was finally able to shuck off the body that had become his prison.

I'm going to miss him.

Please understand that I may not ever feel up to responding to comments to this entry.

An ending

When I first met him, it was a terrible winter in Columbus, Ohio. The back yard was frozen over with at least a solid inch of ice, and the ice lasted for over a month. And this skinny little black cat came up to the door, meowing.

My brain ran through the possibilities. If you feed a stray, you might as well take him inside... he'll never leave. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't take him inside. We already had more cats than the landlord allowed.

But the poor guy was so cold... I picked him up and put him inside my coat. If I could at least warm him up for a while, well, that'd be something.

Luckily, I had a boss who understood. When I came in late to work, explaining why, she would have been more upset if I hadn't stopped to warm him up.

He was there the next day, too. What could I do? I put him in my coat again.

He soon decided that this was his home I suppose. He didn't stop coming by. Eventually, he snuck into Chris's car, and jumped out about five miles away, and we figured that was the end... but he found his way back.

I think, at that point, we decided we had to feed him. He'd more or less chosen us, and where else whas he going to go?

We brought him in, we de-flea-d him, and he grew.

Chris named him Chibi, after a tiny little black cat in an anime. But "chibi" means "small" and he topped out at about 20 pounds. It was a good name, anyway, and it's the name he had for over 15 years.

Fifteen years of hunting for scritches, and flopping next to people begging for pets, and laying on top of my chest, and purring ... always purring when someone took the time to give him a cuddle.

He was patient and playful and gentle. You could give him a pill or liquid without wrapping him in a towel, becuase he didn't like it, but he only struggled, he never fought.

But he'd been going downhill... not surprising for a cat who was at least 16 years old.

Monday, the stress I felt over his condition gave me a massive headache. Was it time, or could I wait? And Tuesday, I decided that a massive headache meant I could call off from work... I was sick, after all. I was too sick to work effectively.

We didn't do much. He was past his time for playing. We watched some TV, and the Stephen King flick "Cat's Eye" because Chibi would totally rescue a young girl from a tiny troll, and he wouldn't need a record player and a fan to finish the bastard off... at least, not in his prime. And I cuddled him, and he still purred for me a bit. But mostly, I felt his warmth and his heartbeat, and I thought it was awfully close. When Chibi can't purr, something had to be terribly wrong.

Over the past week, he had gotten confused and he'd get caught in narrow spaces. His back legs were too weak to let him back up, so he'd keep pawing away at whatever was in front of him. I tried closing them off, but he got caught behind doors. Or, rather, caught in doorways. Which was symbolic, I suppose, but then... well, then he got caught in the trashcan in my bathroom.

And it was like asking a question. Was I going to let my cat die, like a piece of trash that's been tosed aside, trapped and alone? Or was I going to make sure that he had someone who loved him standing by at the end?

There's only one answer to a question like that. So this morning, at 9, Chibi was finally able to shuck off the body that had become his prison.

I'm going to miss him.

Please understand that I may not ever feel up to responding to comments to this entry.

(no subject)

Since it's rabbit hole day, I'll tell you the story that should have been.

It was the doorways that did it... getting trapped in a doorway was a sure sign of wanting to pass through. I wasn't exactly ready, but I was as close as could be. So I reach down, grabbed his spirit firmly, and stepped across the barrier into the spirit world.

It wasn't easy; it never is. But we got there. And soon we were looking for what he wanted.

We found her. She was perfect, he said. Her brothers wouldn't ask for a girly pet like a cat, but they all secretly loved the thought of a warm, purring kitty sharing a chair, or chasing string and shadows, or finding the highest spot in the house, to keep watch against who-knows-what.

She was from a war zone, of course. That's what he wanted. Someone scared, and lonely, and someone who needed a happy little bundle of purring.

"Do you need my help?" I asked, and he smiled at me. Like a loving kitty needed help charming the heck out of a little lonely girl! He ran over to her, and slipped his head under her hand, and purring as her hand stroked him from head to tail.

Soon, she was picking him up and hugging him in a most undignified manner, and he pretended to be bearing it with dignity, rather than doing his job with pride. And thankfully, in the spirit world, there are no parents who'd refuse their children a new pet who "followed them home," so I knew my job was mostly done when she carefully took a hold of him and ran home as swiftly as she dared with her arms full of cat.

I could have left then; maybe I should have. But I couldn't. Maybe I was afraid, but I don't think so. I think it was fascination.

Why are there nightmares in the spirit world? It's formed by our consciousness, right? Sure, it's touched by our dreams and subconscious, but it's formed by our consciousness, isn't it?

Ah, but she was from a war zone. And war, well... if we truly hated war, and always were willing to strive mightly and sacrifice heavily to prevent it, those nightmares would be gone from the spirit; that's just the way it is. But we don't, do we?

Oh, some of us do, but all too many of us just blindly accept. And some of us even cheer.

So it's not a surprise that a nightmare formed and a group of faceless soldiers started marching towards the little girl's house. Their insignias? They were those from every country, and none. And they were fighting to both correct, and perpetrate, a brutal injustice, but does it matter? They were fighting, and the girl's family was A Potential Enemy so they had to be harassed, and frightened, and maybe even killed if things went badly or mistakes were made.

I really don't think I was afraid. I think I knew what would happen. But I was glued to the spot, and I couldn't look away, not until I knew for sure.

Later, the nightmare-corporal would be explaining to a nightmare-lieutenant that they were attacked, that their mission failed, that a horrible black panther had ripped them apart. The nightmare-soldiers would disagree; there was never a panther so powerful, so vicious, and so protective. But they let the explanation stand. Who would believe the truth?

And so the girl and her family would sleep in peace for a while, their time in the spirit world made happier and more peaceful.

As I turned to leave, I felt a headbutt at my calf, and I turned around, and picked my cat Chibi up.

"I'll miss you," I said.

And he didn't say anything; he just stretched his neck next to mine, giving me a final hug, purred loudly, and then scampered away, free at last from a body that was no longer a proper body for such a big, loving cat. Then he ran off, to his new home, to give love and protection for as long as he could, until at last, he was ready to dive back into our world, to live another life, and make the world a bit better for his passing.

Please understand that I may not ever feel up to responding to any comments made on this entry.

(no subject)

Since it's rabbit hole day, I'll tell you the story that should have been.

It was the doorways that did it... getting trapped in a doorway was a sure sign of wanting to pass through. I wasn't exactly ready, but I was as close as could be. So I reach down, grabbed his spirit firmly, and stepped across the barrier into the spirit world.

It wasn't easy; it never is. But we got there. And soon we were looking for what he wanted.

We found her. She was perfect, he said. Her brothers wouldn't ask for a girly pet like a cat, but they all secretly loved the thought of a warm, purring kitty sharing a chair, or chasing string and shadows, or finding the highest spot in the house, to keep watch against who-knows-what.

She was from a war zone, of course. That's what he wanted. Someone scared, and lonely, and someone who needed a happy little bundle of purring.

"Do you need my help?" I asked, and he smiled at me. Like a loving kitty needed help charming the heck out of a little lonely girl! He ran over to her, and slipped his head under her hand, and purring as her hand stroked him from head to tail.

Soon, she was picking him up and hugging him in a most undignified manner, and he pretended to be bearing it with dignity, rather than doing his job with pride. And thankfully, in the spirit world, there are no parents who'd refuse their children a new pet who "followed them home," so I knew my job was mostly done when she carefully took a hold of him and ran home as swiftly as she dared with her arms full of cat.

I could have left then; maybe I should have. But I couldn't. Maybe I was afraid, but I don't think so. I think it was fascination.

Why are there nightmares in the spirit world? It's formed by our consciousness, right? Sure, it's touched by our dreams and subconscious, but it's formed by our consciousness, isn't it?

Ah, but she was from a war zone. And war, well... if we truly hated war, and always were willing to strive mightly and sacrifice heavily to prevent it, those nightmares would be gone from the spirit; that's just the way it is. But we don't, do we?

Oh, some of us do, but all too many of us just blindly accept. And some of us even cheer.

So it's not a surprise that a nightmare formed and a group of faceless soldiers started marching towards the little girl's house. Their insignias? They were those from every country, and none. And they were fighting to both correct, and perpetrate, a brutal injustice, but does it matter? They were fighting, and the girl's family was A Potential Enemy so they had to be harassed, and frightened, and maybe even killed if things went badly or mistakes were made.

I really don't think I was afraid. I think I knew what would happen. But I was glued to the spot, and I couldn't look away, not until I knew for sure.

Later, the nightmare-corporal would be explaining to a nightmare-lieutenant that they were attacked, that their mission failed, that a horrible black panther had ripped them apart. The nightmare-soldiers would disagree; there was never a panther so powerful, so vicious, and so protective. But they let the explanation stand. Who would believe the truth?

And so the girl and her family would sleep in peace for a while, their time in the spirit world made happier and more peaceful.

As I turned to leave, I felt a headbutt at my calf, and I turned around, and picked my cat Chibi up.

"I'll miss you," I said.

And he didn't say anything; he just stretched his neck next to mine, giving me a final hug, purred loudly, and then scampered away, free at last from a body that was no longer a proper body for such a big, loving cat. Then he ran off, to his new home, to give love and protection for as long as he could, until at last, he was ready to dive back into our world, to live another life, and make the world a bit better for his passing.

Please understand that I may not ever feel up to responding to any comments made on this entry.