” CATS ARE INTENDED TO TEACH US THAT NOT EVERYTHING IN NATURE HAS A PURPOSE.”
I believe it is best just to teeter off the line taking the step forward into the light of full responsibility for the actions I was about to take…but no way, I was road weary and just completed an almost coast to coast I-80, six-day and five night, excursion from Redding,CA to Hopewell Junction, NY.
I have not viewed the majority of my possessions for two years as they lay packed in black and yellow multi-gallon plastic containers stacked almost ceiling high of my borrowed bedroom.
Over the years and particularly in the past two years Anne and I have come to place little value on stuff. Things we have acquired over 35 years of marriage have taken on a lower level of importance than family, health and steady employment.
Having said this I was very excited to see my old buddy, and writing companion right where I left it leaning against the dinning room wall.
When I purchased the pine roll-top desk thirty-five years ago, soon after our marriage, it was considered an official antique. Well over 100 years-old and paperwork that said it was from the CherryValley some where in Idaho. At this point in time it could have been the Idaho Valley somewhere near a town called Cherry Valley as I have long since lost the little tag tied tightly to the drawer by a dirty white piece of knitting yarn.
This really has less to do with the desk which over the years has been much like a time capsule holding a treasure of worthless nick knacks throughout the box shelves, drawers and storage areas. Most of which I found recognizable to me on my return after nine months on the other coast.
Photographers are notorious for loving containers, bags and just about anything you can shove stuff into. Many have gone on to make quit a nice living by providing their colleagues with just such gear. It’s really like giving a kitten a cardboard box; they can find countless hours to amuse themselves and eventually find a way to hurt themselves.
I can’t tell you how I squealed with inner delight after having seen a small deep blue and purple tin etched with a red trim with purple pansies painted on the lid having no memory of this little treasure sitting on the desk main shelf; hard candy maybe?
Grabbing it tightly it was dense with a bit of weight to it. I pulled with herculean strength using my big mitts I started to break a sweat. I used my short finger nails digging as deep as I could where the lid meets that can.
Hmmmm, was the only response I could muster as I felt the scotch tape that tightly held the lid on two sides; this has to be good as I scraped at the edge of the tape.
Ohh shit, it can’t be. It was all coming back. The tag on the bottom of the can sure helped with a memory update.
This was CR #15, my best little buddy, Trinity. The cremated remains of our much-loved family cat by the Balmoral Pet Cemetery in Gaylordsville,CT.
The poor thing was seconds from being released from his container coating every surface of the desk and dinning area giving a whole new name to cleaning up after the cat….I curse you hard candy!
I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.
The worst part was just telling my wife, Anne, that everything was fine and that we had just returned home with the antibiotics that would clear up the problem.
Within seconds of getting off the phone came the call with the news that our buddy was suffering from a far more serious condition. The first round of blood test had just been completed, and it was conclusive for diabetes.
He would be looking at two insulin injections every day for the rest of his life along with the many trips to give blood and urine to monitor the glucose levels.
“It’s not a death sentence and he could have a few years left. But given his age.” was the word.
Just a couple of months ago we had a close call and a few days in the emergency room with countless test and being hooked up to an intravenous unit. He didn’t complain but you could tell it took a toll on him. We wonder now if the diagnosis was correct. I wish animals could talk.
The symptoms appeared very similar, eating like there was no tomorrow; drinking a lake; excessive urination (the lake has to go somewhere). You could see a bit of weight loss but it was the weakness in the rear legs that broke your heart.
He just looked tired….”rode hard and put away wet.” as they say.
His big buddy “Sage” had passed two years ago. They had been friends for eight years, Sage a wonderful German Shepard having to learn to be a sister to this new little ball of grey and white fluff. His little buddy “Emmy” will miss him now.
“Trinity” was not named for the union of the “father, son and holy ghost” but maybe should have been given his temperament and compassion. He was brought home the same week my wife’s mother, Silvia, died; just a month short of ten years ago and during the holiday.
Isn’t it always during the holiday?
Although my close friend for ten years we just started to really understand each other the past few years and were pretty much inseparable the last few months.
As I type he now lies near my feet tucked into the space of the old pine roll top desk. It’s been known as his fort for years; a soft towel for added comfort has been added to warm the wood floor.
We’re loosing another piece of the family and it hurts but I know that he has friends across the country that have visited the house and will share in our sadness. They’ll remember with a smile his kind heart and sweet nature.
With the loss of any one close you just try to hold on to the good times and remember the traits they brought to your life to make you a better person. Trinity provided many.
Tomorrow he visits Silvia and Grandpa George for the holidays.
“Do you think he knows?” asked Anne.
Yeah, I think he does.