Apologies in advance, this is going to be long. But it's been 10 years, and I'm some days late and he deserves all I can give.
They say time heals all wounds, but I'm not so sure. I don't think they accounted for the hole in my heart in the shape of a cat. My cat, Furry. Perhaps I never allowed the wound to heal, perhaps it will only go away when I give my heart to another cat, or perhaps it will never heal. All I know is, you made a difference in my life, and I lost my dearest friend ten years ago.
I'm not sure of the exact circumstances in which you came into our family, all I know is that it was 1992 and I was about 4 and 1/2 years old. I remember walking into the lounge room to see two kittens sitting on the lounge chair on a fluffy blanket, with their legs tucked beneath them as they slept side by side. We do have a photo somewhere, but I haven't been able to find that one yet. I don't know how we decided between my brother and I which kitten was to belong to whom, but somehow you and I ended up together and your sister, Kitty, ended up with my brother.
Like all kittens, you were lively, curious, playful and loved boxes and I know we had hours of enjoyment from watching you play together and playing with you. The pair of you were a terrible duo, causing mischeif, chasing each other around the house, running up people's legs, climbing the christmas tree and pulling the clothes off the clothes horse.
Furry is on the floor, Kitty is in the box.
To the untrained eye, the pair of you were peas in a pod and many of our friends couldn't tell the difference, but differences there were. Not just in your coat pattern, or the triangle of three black spots on your nose, but in the feel of your coat too. Where Kitty's fur was soft and plush, yours was tougher and more hair-like, not that I minded of course. Your personalities were also worlds apart and I feel that somehow they matched up with us. At heart, you were an adventurous cat and loved the outdoors. We took walks together, watched rabbits together, climbed trees together and you trusted me to follow where I went. And yet, you were a loving cat, eager to come for cheek rubs when called and with a charisma above and beyond any other. If I was at school, you would walk around and "talk" to mum while she did things around the house. If mum wasn't home, you would visit the neighbours and stand in their garden talking to them while they did the weeding or some other garden chore. If we took you to the vet, and took you in a box, you would cry and shift and push and claw your way out until your head was poking out the top of the box, and once it was and you could see, you were fine.
You adored being held and sitting in laps, and would sit on a shoulder for as long as you could and dig your claws in and purr and drool all over whoever was holding you. I know when I was younger my lap was not often favoured as it was too small for you to sit comfortably on. But if I was sick home from school, instead of being outside all day you would sit on the bed with me, and at night time, it was my bed you slept on, my pillow you stole and pushed me off of, and my head you bit when I tried to take it back. We had a rule after that, no Furry beyond my shoulders in the bed. Every night you would start sleeping at my legs and slowly move further and further up the bed until you were standing on my chest, you would nuzzle my head and try to walk to the pillow, but my hand on your chest stopped you, and you would always apply a little bit of pressure to see if I would give in. You knew I wouldn't, you were just testing.
What a cat you were, and not a weird cat either. Kitty was a weird cat, she caught leaves and brought them to the back door pleased as punch, she also got grass stuck up her nose. Sparks is a weird cat, she used to chew through the plastic and eat the bread while we were out of the house and she swallowed a meter of string. But you weren't weird, you were a cat, but so much more than that. Your cat instincts were greatly alive and well, in fact you seemed to thrive on hunting and though you fought a bit, you were the King of Cats wherever we moved to. When we moved to a house backing onto a gully with a creekline, you regularly brought back rabbits (pests in this country) and left what was left of them on the door mat, the porch, the pathway, the lawn. You were an incredible hunter, even one day bringing in a full size, highly venomous brown snake, dead! I'm so glad you didn't repeat that hunting episode. It was lucky that Kitty survived her bite from one of those.
So when you weren't hunting, playing, talking to the neighbours or curled up in our laps, what did you do? You sprawled of course! On your back, often in the sun with all four legs in the air, or across a whole couch cushion. No cat ever looked more comfortable on his back. You loved being around people, and if I was reading from a text book for school or trying to write down my homework, you would sit on the book or my hand or wherever it would stop me from doing what I was doing so that I would pay attention to you. And how could I resist? You were a part of me. You grew up with me, lead me, taught me, helped me, listened to me and even gave advice. You were simply my closest and dearest friend, a part of my heart. Except you're still a part of my heart.
I remember the time leading up to before the accident. I was excited because my sixteenth birthday was coming up, and I was telling you about it and how we'd get to have fun once I turned sixteen. It seemed such a sure thing, to have you there for my birthday. Yet it seems it just wasn't to be. I still in part blame myself for what happened, for it was me that let you outside that morning. My best human friend was there because she'd slept over, and it wasn't long after I let you out, maybe 1/2 hour to an hour and I heard your cries. I had always been able to tell them apart from any other cat, and this time there was something about your cry that sent terror through my whole body. I raced to the back door to find you weren't even there yet, but I opened it and you walked in continuing to cry the whole time. It was immediately obvious there was something wrong with your back leg, I think it was the left one, but I'm afraid I don't remember anymore. You walked inside and I thought you would stop walking, but you kept crying walked through the dining room and kitchen, along the hallway, up five stairs, into my bedroom and jumped onto my bed and curled into a ball. How that tugged at my heart that you made that your safe space. Needless to say, we took you to the vet and left you there while they figured out what was wrong.
It soon became clear that there was nothing I could do to save you, I don't know what happened, but you tore all of the ligaments in your hind leg. To repair them would be hugely costly, to amputate was also costly and my parents argued that you wouldn't be happy, that at 11 years old you wouldn't adapt with three legs. I accused them of lying, I screamed, I cried, I promised to give up my student exchange trip to Germany at the end of the year if it would give us the money to save you. And yet, the decision was made, as it probably already had been for some time. And at night on August 10, 2003, they took your life, four days before I turned 16. It took me many years to forgive my parents for their decision, and I still don't think it was the right one, but in all fairness, they probably didn't have the money.
The two hardest things, being 15 years old and not being able to help you, to make that decision for myself. The second, was because you'd been in so much pain, they already had you sedated. In a way, it was like you were already dead, since the decision had been made and you were unresponsive anyway, I felt robbed of my last true duty to you. I was right there, and you were right there, but how could you have known? Is your last memory of being in pain and terrified at the vet clinic before they sedated you? I hope not. Still, I was there, they gave us time to say goodbye. When they came back in I kept petting you until after you were gone. You came home with us, we showed your body to Kitty, she seemed to understand. The next day when I came home from school, my dad had a hole ready in the garden for you. I petted you one last time, though it was strange without life in your body. We buried you, I planted a bottlebrush and daffodils over your grave. But though you were gone, the impact of your life was not and I cried for months and cannot think of you still without crying.
Furry was my heart and soul in a cat. To this day, I still don't know how I will ever fully give my heart to another cat without feeling that I've betrayed him. He was my buddy, my confidant, my partner in adventure, my dearest friend. How has it been ten years since you were with us? I miss you, always have.
