I've been trying to write this blog for over three weeks, but I didn't know what I wanted to write about.
Now I do. A little more than a week ago, I lost my familiar, Pyewacket. She was poisoned. It was
totally preventable, if only people would be careful where they dump their coolant or anti-freeze. Dogs
and cats like to drink it, because to them, it tastes sweet. But it's toxic. I am still in the anger phase of
grieving for her. I haven't cried yet. I want to find the person who did this, and force him to drink
anti-freeze. She was very psychic and empathic, as cats tend to be. She could always tell when I
wasn't feeling well, and would do what she could to make
better. She liked to get on my shoulder
and knead my my chest. She was also very fond of catnip. Around Yule, I took some waste fabric,
some catnip, and some yarn, and made some jesoids. I formed heads by a putting about a teaspoonful
of catnip in the center of the cloth, binding it with yarn to form a neck, and put a face on it, and on
the skirt Christian symbols. I would dangle the jesoids in front of her, and she would grab it with her
paws and put the head in her mouth. She would rub against it, to inhale the
scent We all
laughed at this. We called that the Games. A neighbor found her dead in her yard, and asked us if we
had a little calico cat. I don't know why she didn't come home so that she could die in my arms.
Maybe I would have wept then. Pyewacket was also a shoulder putty. She like to get on
shoulders, and lurk there while he went about his daily activities. She would lie on the back of the
couch, and when I scritched her belly, she would flex her paws. It was very funny and cute. She kept
the cuteness of being a kitten all through her life. I do not believe that her killer can say the same for
himself. I'm saying him because I think a woman would have more sense than to dump her antifreeze
in the gutter.
Charcoal, on the other hand, or paw, was another story. He died of a broken heart. When he first came
into the house, he had certain medical problems, one of which was gingivitis. Stephen fussed over him
got him on a special diet, and gave him medicine to relieve the pain in his mouth. Charcoal got used to being fussed over. We called him the Klingon because he clung on. He was devoted to Stephen, and would come to him just like a dog would. So he took it hard when Stephen started yelling at him and throwing him out of his room. I can understand on one level why Stephen did it. He didn't want Charcoal lying on his face while he slept, which Charcoal tended to do. It was especially bad for Stephen, since he has asthma. But Charcoal didn't realize that and so he felt rejected by Stephen, the human he loved, his daddy.
Dallan and I would take him and love him up, saying soft nonsense things to him, and scratching him, but we were no substitute for Stephen. Charcoal was a one-human cat. He stopped grooming himself, which is a sure sign that a cat is on the decline. He hung his head and his tail low, another sign that a cat is depressed. Dallan found him under the porch, and he was dying then. He put him in a small sheet and a box just outside the back door, and there he died. We buried him beside Pyewacket. I saw him cross the rainbow bridge to the special Summerland for putties, where Pyewacket, Bailee, Inky, Oreo, all the other putties we have lost waited for him.
Losing a cat can be as devastating as losing a human child, even though we know that cats don't live as long as humans do. The house is a little bit emptier now with two fewer furry beings in it. I want to know about your experiences with your pets/familiars crossing the Rainbow Bridge.