Ding, November 1986 - September 2006
Kittykittykittykittykittycat
meow. meow.
Sweet little grouchy little kittycat
meow. meow.
Where are you little kittycat?
meow. meow.
Do you remember how I got to be your mommy?
meow. meow.
How I wrapped you in a washcloth and fed you from a bottle a few hours after you were born, after my brother scooped your abandoned tiny fur-self from a puddle at a construction site?
meow. meow.
And how after 12 days you opened your eyes the first time and saw this freaky human thing beaming in your face and calling you Ding?
meow. meow.And how you squealed when I stuffed that awful medicine up your butt with my thumb for a week, pushing that prolapse back inside you in order to save your life, while you squealed a high-pitched squeal that would break the hardest heart?
meow. meow.
And how you grew and played and learned to entertain yourself by clawing the bejesus out of my arms, climbing them like they were tree limbs?
meow. meow.
And how you stretched out and snoozed the whole way when I drove us across the desert in a 1960 Mercury Comet and 3 days later wound up in a seedy Hollywood hotel with a stained mattress on the floor?
meow. meow.
And how when we found our own apartment you'd swing like Tarzan from the cheap drapes, shredding them quite artistically over the next four years?
meow. meow.
And how you freaked me out by going in heat and suddenly making obscene suggestions to ME? Your mommy??
meow.meow.
And how, still just a young thing, you got your horny-organs surgically removed?
meow. meow.
And how you chased after pennies and nickels I'd roll across the floor and fetch them back to me to roll them again?
meow. meow.
And how when I was gone at work all day trying to play teacher in the LA city schools you'd pass the time by wandering around our small rented room, pick up stray coins from our evening roll-and-fetch-it games and one by one deposit them into your food bowl for some inexplicable reason, like they were candy in a candy dish?
meow. meow.
And how you got so mad when I left you there two summers in a row to go to grad school in Vermont, with the apartment manager feeding you, and how you scared the living crap out of her by continuing to fill your food dish with random coins each day for her to find there, and she'd take them out, and the next day she'd find them there again, and she thought some human was sneaking in somehow to do that peculiar deed during the night?
meow. meow.
And how the day I got back from Vermont I was so happy to be with you again, and you communicated quite dramatically how you resented my disappearing act by depositing a steaming pile of self-expression onto my pillow?
meow. meow.
And how when I mourned the loss of a lover, you ran to me and showed me the most touching concern, dabbing my teary cheeks with your nose?
meow. meow.
And how you got doped up on kitty valium and loaded into a carrier way too small for anything approaching feline dignity and the next thing you knew were flying across the ocean with me, eventually disembarking into the tropics of Thailand?
meow. meow.
And how I used you the first day I met Lee as a show-and-tell novelty in order to observe her reaction to my precious furry friend (and eventually you came to get revenge by favoring her over me)?
meow.meow.
And how you had, as it turns out, the most joyous years of your life chasing down ceiling lizards, stalking them till they'd panic, lose their grip and fall with a splat onto the floor where you'd immediately pounce and gobble, then loyally deposit the heads outside our bedroom door?
meow. meow.
And years later how you once again got packed into that same too small cage and slid yet again under an airplane seat, only this time the kitty valium didn't seem to work, and you howled like holy hell for 10,000 airborne miles, and finally, just as the final plane touched down at the Oklahoma City airport, you let rip a mighty stink of a bowel movement, perfectly timed to synchronize with Lee's turbulence-inspired puking, and me in the middle not quite sure how to console either of you?
meow. meow.
And how I betrayed you, only months later, by allowing a stray feline, soon followed by two others, into your domain, becoming all of a sudden a household not of One Cat but, ridiculously, four?
meow. meow.
And how you never really forgave me for that?
meow. meow.
And how you settled into old kitty age gracefully nonetheless, and came to sleep with us with your very consistent and charming routine, first climbing atop Lee's chest where she'd gently take the sleep from your eyes, then, as soon as the lights were out, you'd dismount from her and squat upon my chest for a few minutes of my rubbing your ears, your alternately licking and chomping my fingers, lick lick, chomp, lick lick lick, chomp, then abruptly end with a hiss, jump off in a huff, only to quietly circle back around and settle in for the night snuggling on my legs or at my feet?
meow. meow.
And how you always climbed on my shoulders when you were leery of whatever might be going on around you, or if we went outside or to the vet's--your safe place with your mommy all these years, mimicking a pirate's parrot, from kittenhood days up until the last week of your life?
meow. meow.
And how sick and weak you became, and how worried we were, and how helpless it all soon was?
meow. meow.
And how, when you were too frail to walk more than a few steps I carried you from room to room on the round kitty-cushion like a queen?
meow. meow.
And how you slept on that cushion on the floor next to my side of the bed and how last Friday night, when I was sleeping, you somehow found the strength to lift yourself from that cushion and crawl into bed next to me, and collapse there, exhausted, no longer able to even lift your head?
meow. meow.
And how you stayed there in that spot, stretched out, exhausted, laboring for breath, for another two days, while I worried miserably?
meow. meow.
And how Sunday morning Lee sat next to you and meditated silently for an hour, then quietly chanted Buddhist verses to you, while I paced and wept?
meow. meow.
And how a few minutes later Lee left the room, and I took her place next to you, stroking you, cooing your name, watching your every breath, placing myself in your line of vision, you started to cry, the first cries your body had been able to make for weeks, and over the next half hour you cried a hoarse, pain-ridden cry three times, maybe four, between desparate gulps for air?
meow. meow.
And how your face suddenly changed with an intensity of fear and I called out to Lee, "She's panicking!" and Lee hurried to my side, to your side?
meow. meow.
And how you suddenly seized, vomiting, face full of the horror of what was happening, and at the end of it all, you died?
meow.
meow.
And how we lifted you from the bed and stretched you out on the floor and sat with you, tears flowing, at the same time relieved that the suffering was not more prolonged or awful than it had been, petting you, talking to you who were no longer with us, telling each other whatever thoughts about you floated in our minds?
meow. meow.
And how I buried you in a hole I'd earlier prepared, and how I was knocked down by the grief of filling that hole in a way I could not have anticipated?
meow.
And how I miss you still, your mommy, your strange male human bearded mommy who shared for all practical purposes his entire adult life up to now, 20 years, with you, achingly misses you?
meow.
And how grief, even kitty grief, is a painful painful beast, and a sneaky one too--comes out when everything seems fine again and smashes you on the noggin with a hammer?
meow. meow.
And how this grief, this symptom of attachment which is both the folly and the joy of humankind, leads people to strange and foolish things, like writing on and on the nonsense words:
meow? meow?
meow, sweet Ding.
meow.
[September 13, 2006]