She bounded into my life in November, 1995. She was carefully chosen by my daughter, from
a multitude of hopefuls residing at the local orphanage. Even as a newborn, she had a stage presence
about her that commanded attention. Ignoring
her mates and siblings, she auditioned for all she was worth, practically
begging to be taken home. In the end,
she captured my daughter’s heart and never looked back when she picked her up
and walked out the door.
She could be held in the palm of one hand, and would greet people
with a youthful, high pitched,
“meow.” She became Snuggles Marie
Anne, and for the next 18 years, she grew to be the very best cat – ever. She made this home her castle, and make no
mistake, it was her castle.
No cat in the history of this house was ever permitted to
sleep on a bed … ever. That commandment
was broken the very first night. Countless times she jumped up; countless times
I removed her to the kitty sleeping area.
Finally, exhausted, I gave up, and she fell asleep on my head. Point
made. And for the next 18 years, the bed
is where she slept.
The first morning she woke here, birds outside my window were
joyfully greeting the dawn. Instantly, she became hyper alert and headed for
the open window, jumping up on the sill and staring, with laser like focus, at
every single bird she could find. There was no way this cat was going to be
content indoors. She…was a hunter. Uh-oh.
From that moment till just about a year ago, she proudly
paraded her conquests before the door, depositing them for review, accompanied
by strange guttural utterances, the meaning of which I cared not to know. To be
sure, the yard and surrounding neighborhood suffered a falling population of
birds, snakes, chipmunks, mice, moles, and even rabbits. Then there were the assorted “parts” that
could never be matched to any known living thing. And she could never
understand why I did not greet her every gift with enthusiasm and
affection. But that never diminished her
enthusiasm for hunting, or any other “adventure” that caught her fancy.
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| A favorite indoor spot |
She otherwise patrolled her kingdom with dedication and
purpose, the main one being to banish anything that posed a threat. Pity the cat that dared venture onto her
sacred lawn. Tail puffed to five times its
normal size, off she went in a blur, never backing down from any, and I mean
any, confrontation where she thought her interests were threatened….even from a
skunk. Not her wisest decision.
She was a mystery of contrasts. When day was done and the
fire lit, Snuggles, as the name implies, became the most affectionate cat
imaginable. She would actually come when
called, and was the closest thing to a dog that I shall ever have. As soft as her fur, she would do anything for
a pet, and a place on someone’s lap meant contentment for hours on end. No sitting or horizontal human was immune.
Petting her, with her eyes glazed over and looking affectionately upward, and
her purring machine in high gear, she presented the picture of a totally docile
and helpless creature.
She loved humans, and
constantly craved their company. That was her greatest gift, and in its fulfillment, she was
totally indiscriminate. She cared not if
you were prince or pauper, president or scalawag. If you were near, you were hers. Wandering the neighborhood, she would stop at
various houses when people were out and about, and beg for a pet. Kids were a favorite target, as was an older
gent down the street who often sat on his porch, and often found Snuggles in
his lap.
Too trusting at times, she was known to follow passing
walkers down the street, always looking for a pet. More than once, she disappeared for a night
on the town, or two. Thoughts of catnapping weighed heavily, but she always
managed to find her way back, or would
be found napping on someone’s porch. More
than once, I was prompted to declare her a slut. Lovingly, of course.
She had special places claimed as her own, usually those
"spots" where she rested between sorties.
The back of “her” chair, the foot
of the bed, the place on the rug where the sun shown, and that special,
protected roost between the front shrubs (in the sun, of course) - they were
her places to dream of ventures past; to recharge and regroup for campaigns yet to come.
At the zenith of her life, she was equal parts regal, proud,
and meticulous; she carried herself with dignity. But nothing stops the ever ticking clock.
As time slowly stole her strength and stamina, she took to
sleeping more and more …. and more. Gone
the hunting, the carousing, the defending of her kingdom; she became almost
totally passive. Day by day, the subtle
changes were not duly noticed, or internalized, or projected. It was as if she would forever be.
But, one Saturday morning, she leapt off the bed, only to
discover that her hind legs no longer carried the rest of her. Just like that. In an instant, forever vanished.
Off to the vets.
Possibilities not good – outcome not favorable. A stroke was the best guess, or maybe a blood
clot. What difference now? A shot was given … if it worked … then ….
maybe. It didn’t. Torture then, till Monday morning. Off to the vets. The Doctor tried her best to remain neutral,
but the words spoken between the lines, between the pauses, between the “what
ifs” – all whispered – it was time.
The doctor said it would be painless. Like going to
sleep. Her dignity and pride would not
be taken from her; that would not be allowed.
If it was sleep she craved, it was sleep she would get. On July 1, 2013.
To all who knew her, she gave joy and laughter, love and loyalty,
companionship and memories. She was a
best little friend, and lived long enough to know all 7 grandchildren. Both were made better by the experience.
So, Snuggles Marie Anne would not have the same hereafter as
her predecessors. Not this cat. Snuggles would be returned, in a little box,
to spend her days and nights where she loved to be … between the shrubs from
where she could guard and protect her kingdom; between the shrubs that gave her
sun, and kept her safe. Forever.
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| June 30th |
Mark Twain Quote: “ A
home without a cat – and a well-fed, well-petted and properly revered cat - may
be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?”
