I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its invisible soul.
- Jean Cocteau
Oh, my friend, it’s not what they take away from you that counts. Its what you do with what you have left that counts.
- Hubert H. Humphrey
On virtually any other day, I’d normally be copiously exercising my freedom of speech, but I’m just not in the mood for it right now. This morning I find myself struggling to say goodbye to a friend, and his unexpected departure has left me somewhat adrift.
Erin and I left early in the morning on Christmas Eve to spend the holiday weekend with her family in Longview, WA, about an hour north of Portland on I-5. As we’ve done on numerous previous occasions, we left our cat, Sundance, inside with plenty of food and water. There wasn’t anything particularly unusual about this, nor did we have reason reason to believe anything was amiss. We said our goodbyes and left, fully expecting to walk in the door two days later to Sundance’s usual vocal and disapproving reception that was the norm when we were gone for more than a few hours. Neither of us imagined what would await us when we came back home.
After two-days of eating way too much, hanging out with family, and just generally having a good time, Erin and I said our goodbyes and headed home at about 9pm. We arrived home at 10pm. By 10.15pm, I was burying Sundance in the back yard in the rain. Yes, last night sucked.
Arriving home tired and looking forward to curling up in a warm bed, we dragged ourselves into the house. Erin turned on the lights and headed into the kitchen. After being gone for three days, I was looking forward to seeing Sundance and hearing him yap at me as generally did when we come home late. Hearing nothing, I assumed that Sundance was asleep; sometimes he couldn’t be bothered to get up and greet us. As I went to shut the front door, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye. Sundance was lying on the floor, on his side in front of the basement door…something he never does. Before what I was seeing even became a complete thought, I knew something was very, very wrong. Sundance was dead.
Almost none of the food we left him had been touched, so our best guest is that he died within a few hours after we left on Christmas Eve morning. By all indications, he didn’t suffer. It appears that he simply laid down on the dining room floor and died. In an instant we lost a member of our family, and I find myself struggling mightily to come to grips with it.
Sundance, as near as we can figure, was 15-17 years old, but he was still jumping up on furniture and doing the things that normal, healthy cats do every day. There was nothing to indicate that he was in ill health, nothing that would have given us reason to be concerned. He’d recently had a checkup, and the vet gave him a clean bill of health. At his age, though, he’d lived longer than most cats. Perhaps it was just his time.
Erin had already had Sundance for several years before I came into the picture, but he quickly became my cat when I moved in with her. I fed him twice a day, I did my impression of the Human Cat Door for him, and I managed to turn him into a lap cat…and I loved it. Erin would laugh at me sometimes, but I’m much more of an animal person than she is, and she knew that I was a sucker for the four-legged fur ball. Animals have been there for me in ways that people in my life very often haven’t been. I’m one of those folks for whom an animal is a cherished member of the family. Since neither Erin or I have children, this is especially true for me. I adore Erin’s nieces and nephews, but they’re not with us every day. Sundance became my surrogate child, and I spoiled him every bit as much as I would have indulged a human child.
Once the initial shock wore off, I knew that I needed to do the right thing by Sundance. I dug a hole in the back yard garden, wrapped him in a towel, and buried him with his food dish. Thirty minutes earlier, I’d been looking forward to hearing Sundance yapping at us for being gone for two-plus days. Instead, I was faced with having to bury him. Once I finished, I sat next to his grave in a cold, wet rain for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a half-hour or so. Erin collected a few of my garden gnomes and arranged them around Sundance’s grave. I wanted to do more, but I was too numb and shocked (I still am) to really know what would have been the right thing to do. I hope I did right by Sundance; I couldn’t think clearly enough to do much else.
As I’m writing this, it’s 1 a.m., and I can’t sleep. Perhaps I’m too shocked to sleep. I find myself trying to grasp what just happened, and at the moment, I’m drawing a blank. I’m writing because it’s what I do when I find myself adrift and trying to understand something…and right now I don’t know what else to do. Erin’s asleep, but sleeping, normally something I’ve embraced long before this time of night, seems very far from my grasp.
Sundance isn’t the first pet I’ve lost. I’ve lost friends and loved ones over the years. As with most of us, I’m all too familiar with the reality that death is a part of life. Intellectually…rationally…I recognize and understand that truth. Emotionally, that knowledge does nothing to make things any easier right now. The only thing that helps is writing…and so here I am, trying to write the pain away, trying to come to grips with something that’s a fundamental part of the human condition…but still hurts like Hell whenever it’s visited upon me. Death is part of the cycle of life; yet the pain of losing someone you love is invariably heart-rending and impossible to reconcile. This is doubly true when death comes unexpectedly and without warning, and so it is with Sundance.
I wish I’d had the opportunity to say goodbye. I wish there was something I could have done to prevent his death. In the end, though, I recognize and understand that it most likely was his time to go. I wish it hadn’t gone down like it did, but at least it appears that he didn’t suffer. At least we have the finality of knowing, instead of him wandering off someplace to die, leaving us to wonder what might have become of him.
This morning, instead of waking up and going through our unchanging morning ritual- feed Sundance, make coffee while he eats, let him out after he finishes, let him back in 5-10 minutes later- I find myself wishing we’d had more time with him. His presence and his mannerisms were part of the rhythm of our life. Now all there is in the morning is an eery, painful quiet that weighs on me like a heavy coat.
I hope this makes something resembling sense. I feel numb, and my eyes and my head hurt from crying. i’m too out of it to edit and rewrite, so if this is total gibberish, I hope you’ll understand and accept my apologies. I’m trying to comes to grips what happened just a few short hours ago, but understanding eludes me. I just know that I’m not in the mood for the normal silliness. Perhaps tomorrow…or the day after…or the day after that; I just don’t know. Right now, I miss my buddy, and this house seems empty without him.
Sundance: I’ll miss you, my friend, though I lack the vocabulary to fully express just how much. Thank you for the time I had with you. Rest in peace.
