On Wednesday, March 17, a bright and sunshiny bit of love left this world, for on that day I buried a very dear friend. With heavy heart, and tear streaked face, I dug a hole, lovingly laid his linen-wrapped body in it, and began to shovel dirt back over it. When I was done, I built a cairn of stones over his grave, spending the waning hours of the winter evening gathering stones in my grief. I cried, sobbed, and snuffled the whole time.
(Mac Daddy on Julie's front porch)
Mac Daddy wasn't necessarily
my cat, but I was
definitely his human, but we loved each other unabashedly, and neither of us made any bones about it. Belonging to one of my very best friends, Julie, I've known Mac Daddy since he was just a young adolescent. He loved to share his joy and love with others, and always took nurse duties with new kittens, taking very good care of them. And nobody, of course, could occupy a lap quite like ol' Daddy.
Having reached the grand age of 12 sometime over the past year or so (you know how it goes with cats... you just don't always know), Julie and I had both noticed he was getting to be an old cat. He spent a lot of this winter indoors, but then heck, who didn't? Having heard that he had been spending the last few days under the bed, I wasn't surprised. I wanted to do the same. I thought little of the fact that he hadn't come out to visit me the week before.
But I was shocked when he made his slow, stiff-legged way down the hall into the living room wednesday afternoon. Poor Daddy! He had lost weight, couldn't move very well, was so fatigued he took mulitple rests to get across the room, and was literally gasping for breath! He went to the water bowl, but just couldn't manage a drink, laying back down without going to the food bowl. My Daddy wasn't well!
Julie called the vet, and we took him right in. He was made comfortable until the vet could get to him a short time later. Not long after that, the vet euthanized him, a mercifully peaceful end to what had become a very uncomfortable existence.
Examing Mac Daddy, the vet had aspirated a lot of fluid from one lung, which was completely full, and had collapsed. It filled back up immediately, leading the vet to a diagnosis of
FIP - Feline Infectious Peritonitis.
I'm thankful that Daddy didn't suffer for very long at all. Of his last three days, while it's apparent he knew something was wrong and had been hiding under the bed - as cats are wont to do - I don't think any but the last day were acutely uncomfortable. His mates Sam and Boogie were at his side continuously with love and concern and companionship, and humans who loved him were at his side right up to the end. A life lived like Mac Daddy's is well lived.
All this heartbreak brings me to the secondary reason for this post. The pet cemetery. Creatures who bring such joy and love into our lives such as a cat like Mac Daddy deserve something more than disposal at the vet office, or a hole in the the ground out along the back fence. When I arrived home Wednesday afternoon, I broke the news to Mike (who also loved Mac Daddy very much) and asked him to consider where we might begin to create our own memorial garden for beloved pets.
We wanted somewhere where there was space to accommodate all of our pets over the years, someplace peaceful, beautiful, and fairly easy to reach. It needs to be permanent - there will be no moving this particular garden element in 10 years because it's in the way of another project.
We chose a patch of forested area between the mushroom garden and the display beds. It has a moderate slope, lots of ferns and violets, and is along the primary pathway into that section of woods. Additionally, it's behind the large stump pile in front of which Mike planted a shrub border, so it will be secluded. I like to think that a cat-spirit might enjoy climbing the stumps to watch out over the area or bask in the sun.
(Mac Daddy's final resting place)
I don't exactly know how the pet cemetery - I need to come up with a name for it, as I don't exactly like that term - will evolve over the next few years. I am imagining a series of stone cairns ringed by moss, ferns, and violets, as well as rhododendrons and hostas. I would like to include a bench for sitting and visiting, and occasional grieving. Mike wants to cast a 'tufa cat statuette for Mac's memorial. We'll use cedar boughs to create a decorative fence along the edges. Beyond that, I'm sure whimsy will take over and guide our efforts.
I miss Mac Daddy very much, and I'm tearing up just writing this post. How will I handle it when one of
my own cats dies? [Sigh]... love can be tough.
