Everytime We Say Goodbye

 

JOURNAL

Everytime We Say Goodbye

Bill Barksdale, Columnist

I had a somewhat profound and touching experience a couple of days ago.  I woke up unusually early, unable to sleep.  I heard some erratic scratching of little Rudi’s claws on the hall carpet.  He’s not the kind of cat who ever sharpened his claws on the carpet and in any case, this was not a claw-sharpening kind of sound. 

I got up and there was Rudi laying on the floor facing the wall.  “Are you OK little boy”, I said.  He stood but staggered unsteadily then collapsed on the floor.  I lay my hand lightly on his back and he let out two deep, low moans – then stopped breathing.  I waited for quite a while trying to see if I could detect any sign of breathing, but there was none.  He had died. 

He was an old boy, nearly seventeen, and had been slowly deteriorating over the past few months.  Breathing heavily, more difficulty walking despite the pain med I gave him every morning and evening.  He slept a lot, moving from one favorite place to the next for long naps.  Still eating, but less then he used to.  Letting go.  I knew it.  I knew he was near the end but he was still always waiting at the door when we got home.

Many years ago as I was getting ready to leave the office, the last one still there, I heard a loud plaintive meowing outside my rear office door.  It opened onto a kind of wild storage area behind the building.  I went out and tried to find where the sound was coming from but couldn’t find the kitten.  There were feral cats that lived back there.  I figured the mother would find her baby.  I left for the night.

The next morning I was the first one in and I still heard that loud distressful calling out of a lost kitten.  I went out again looking.  The only place I hadn’t looked the night before was in a big pile of old signs stacked up randomly.  I slowly, carefully unstacked the signs one-by-one.  There at the bottom was a tiny kitten.  How he got there I will never know.

I picked him up and brought him inside, setting him carefully on my jacket on the deck.  I called Frank Grasse, our vet and asked if I could bring this kitten in.  “Come right over”, Frank said.  He was the kindest of men and an old friend who had cared for many dogs & a couple of cats for us over the years. 

Frank examined this tiny, little kitten then said “This cat is only eight days old.”  Without even asking me, he handed me a little doll-sized baby bottle and a couple of cans of baby formula then told me “You have a new family member.”  I called Joe and he came to the office and cupped the kitten in his hands to warm him.  We filled the bottle and Joe held it to the tiny mouth that eagerly sucked on the nipple, happy and content.

When we brought him home our dog, Sophie, who had never had pups, immediately began to groom him.  I had filled a box with kitty litter and set him in it.  He immediately knew what to do.  What he didn’t know was how to clean himself after pooping.  If a dog can have a disgusted look on her face, Sophie had it.  She carefully cleaned his little butt, and was his mommy from then on.  We fed him but Sophie watched after him.  We named him Rudi.

Joe was still teaching at the time and brought Rudi to school with him each day, in the box he lived in to keep him from wandering off.  Joe’s students delighted in holding this little guy and feeding him with the tiny bottle of formula.  They were learning how to care for a baby.  Learning how to care for a “pet”.  These kids really grew to love Rudi.

As he grew he did all the cute kitten stuff.  Jumping straight up in the air when I yanked a ball of yarn on a string.  Hiding under the tarp covering the wood pile with his tail sticking out, bring lizards into the house then letting them go.  Lizards would pop up in the strangest places.  I would catch them and let them go well away from the house.

One day a big stray black cat began turning up near the house.  Sophie would chase it away.  I would catch a glimpse of it but figured it would find its way home, but after a few weeks it was clear this cat didn’t have a home to go back to. 

One day when Sophie wasn’t around I called to it and it came right up to me.  Although he seemed quite large, it was a male, I picked him up and he was skin and bones, and fur.  I made a home for him in our large fenced garden that Sophie couldn’t get into.  I would bring him food and water every day.  There was plenty of shade from the tall tomato plants, peppers and rhubarb.  We named him Big

One day I came out to feed Big and there, neatly laid across his bowl was a dead rat.  Not partly eaten or torn up.  I realized it was a thank you gift for me.  I was so touched that I almost cried.  He wanted to let me know how much he appreciated that I had given him a home.  Yes, humans are not the only animals with feelings – like gratitude. Eventually, as winter came on, we moved Big into the house.  He and Sophie came to a truce and eventually became friends.

After some years the country place became too much for us to take care of and we all moved into town - Sophie, Big, Rudi, Joe and me.  They had a big yard of their own.  Eventually Big died, then our beloved Sophie.  Rudi was the last to go, just a few days ago.  The first time in well over four decades that we don’t have a “little one” in the house. 

I’m so grateful that Rudi died quickly and at home.  “That’s how I want to go”, I said.  Of course, none of us knows when or how our inevitable death will come – just that it will someday thank goodness.  Can’t imagine living on and on.  Getting used to death is one gift our pets give us.  They teach us that life, at least physical life, comes to an end.  A lesson I’ve been taught over and over again.

We grieve, but for me, I’m grateful for their friendship.  My dogs and cats have always been family.  Over the years beloved friends and family have died.  How we grieve differs for each of us but ultimately, hopefully, we learn to be grateful along with missing those that have gone on before us. 

Pretty much every day I think of loved ones that have moved on with life’s journey.  Each person, each dog and cat.  Life is a kind of stream that flows.  Sometimes smooth, sometimes rough.  The death of someone we love is one of life’s most difficult experiences.  Illness and disability are certainly part of that journey too.  Life is not always kind, none-the-less that’s part of it all.

 We laid Rudi’s body in front of the fireplace, one of his favorite wintertime spots, as he let go – does some sort of spirt leave the body slowly as some believe?  I don’t know.  It just made us feel better to let him be there for a while.  It’s difficult to let go of the ones we love sometimes, usually.  Inevitable but not easy.   Good bye little boy, and thank you.