Tag Archives: Cat

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Rainbow Bridge

On Friday, my cat died. I’ve had him since I was three, and he lived over two decades with my family. It’s going to be strange going home to the house I grew up in for the holidays and having him not be there. He’s always been there – for as long as I can remember living in that house.

I’ve lost other pets in the past. My two birds and our hamster when I was in middle school, our guinea pig when I was in college, and our family dog just a few years ago. Yet, losing Snowball is the hardest of them all. He was my childhood pet, my friend and confidant. He was my Christmas dream come true. My parents tell me that even the vet was shocked he’d lived this long, that we must have given him the best home imaginable. I wish I could have been there with him. He was always there for me; it just doesn’t seem right. I haven’t seen him since I was home last Christmas. Maybe that’s part of why this is so hard: I wish I could have known then that that would be the last time I’d ever see him.

When my mom first called me to tell me the news, I couldn’t stop crying. I felt a little silly getting so upset over a cat, but I couldn’t help it. He was a part of my family as much as any person is. He knew when I was upset. He snuggled with me late into the morning over summer vacations. He helped me believe in Santa Claus as a kid.

All I asked for for Christmas that year when I was three was a kitten from the North Pole and some food and toys to keep him happy. I still remember standing in the hallway waiting for my parents to let us out into the living room to see our presents from Santa and hearing his tiny kitten mews through the wall. My mom assured me I was hearing things, but I knew. I knew my wish had been granted.

Snowball let me dress him in my baby doll clothes. He let my little brother carry him around the house upside down. He came out from under my parents’ bed for salmon treats, and I didn’t even mind lying on my stomach with my hand outstretched to entice him for hours. He used to curl up in my dad’s laundry basket even though my dad’s allergic to his fur. He used to perch on the back of the couch in the living room and lick the blinds that hung in the window. He used to chase the laser pointer when he was little, and he even managed to develop a Florida sun tan on his fur. He loved lying in the window of my parents’ bedroom looking out at the backyard, and I’m pretty sure that spot of carpet will forever be covered in his white fur.

Rainbow bridge

Rainbow bridge (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I got home that night, I was trying hard not to think about it, but I was still pretty upset. After sharing the news with a friend of mine, she assured me that the best thing we can do for our pets is to give them a happy home while they are with us and shared this story with me.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water, and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon you face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together…

I’m not sure about grassy meadows, but I sure hope Snowball has a nice big water bed to sleep on and his favorite little catnip-filled teddy bear that he loved more than any other toy we ever bought for him. I hope he has plenty of 90s-licious pink blinds to lick and some cat food cakes to devour every day (not just on his birthdays now). I hope he’s found our dog, Ginger, so he can continue to smack her on her head with his windmill paws, and I hope he’s got a nice big laundry basket full of dress shirts to snuggle in. I’m sure he’s found a sunny window to claim as his own and a little tunnel in which to hide when he just wants to be alone.

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Kittens and kids.

I’ve determined that I will probably be a terrible mother. Seriously. I’m worried.

You know those crazy mothers who never let their kids do anything because they might get hurt? Yeah, that’s going to be me. Have you seen Tangled? You know what I mean.

I don’t want to be this way. I don’t. Really. I want to be a good mother, a great mother, the best mother ever. But, if taking care of Clark is any indication of my mothering style, I’m definitely headed straight for Overbearing Lane.

This is the sweetest cat in the world.

See, my friends and I recently took in a stray kitten. She’s the sweetest thing. Yesterday, two of us attempted to give Josie a bath. It was not a success. She, like most cats, wanted nothing to do with being submerged in water. We tried to dunk her gently; she needed to be wet after all for the shampoo. She never tried to bite us or scratch us. Heck, she never even cried. She just started shaking and looked at us with her huge trusting eyes, and we couldn’t do it. Josie got a wet towel wipe down instead of a bath. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to add any more trauma to what was probably already a pretty terrible several weeks (at the least) on the streets.

Look at that little face.

This same night, I brought baby Clark over to my friend’s apartment. He was overcome with curiosity about the new cat tree she’d just purchased and was too excited not to try it out. He quickly climbed to the top and leapt onto the windowsill. Onto the windowsill next to the very open window… on the fifteenth floor. I immediately snatched him up and, for the rest of the night, positioned my body between him and the windowsill. From that moment on, he barely had to glance at the ledge before I scooped him up and held him tightly in my arms.

Why does this make me a bad mother?

Well, you see the window was not exactly wide open. The glass was raised, but between the windowsill and the outside were rather sturdy metal bars and a pretty thick screen. My third friend even assured me that her full-grown 10-pound cat had run full force at the window and not fallen out to her death.

I, however, could not get the image of Clark plummeting fifteen stories to a terrible death out of my head. I couldn’t imagine having to experience that, to know that I could have prevented it. I’d never be able to live with myself. So, as I assured my friends, I was much more content to entertain him with a toy safely in the folds of my lap far from any perilous (or maybe not so perilous) windowsills.

Extrapolate to kids: I am going to be a terrible, overbearing mother. I already know.

As additional support for my conclusion, I offer you this second anecdote.

Today, I took Clark to the vet for the first time. He’d been there once before as a tiny baby, but he wasn’t yet mine (in other words, I was not present). He needed to have some blood drawn for diagnostic tests, two kitten boosters, and a rabies vaccine. That means needles, several needles. He was terrified and kept trying to hide his face in the crook of my elbow. He looked at me with his huge, adorable, trusting kitten eyes which seemed to ask “Why aren’t you helping me?” I almost died. I could barely watch as the doctors flipped him over and tried to restrain him to stick the needles in him. As soon as they let go, he ran to me and leapt into my arms. He snuggled his face against mine, and in my heart, I felt myself saying, “I won’t ever let anything hurt you. You’re my baby.”

With a kitten, this is pretty easy. They stay inside. They can never feed themselves. They always need you for basic survival. With kids… not so much. O dear.

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Dr. Crazy Cat Lady

I think grad school is turning me into a crazy cat lady.

Initially, the thought excited me: perfect way to win the PhD Challenge this year! Woooo! However, the more I stop to think about it, I realize that my level of productivity has greatly decreased due to moments like this:

And this (as I’m walking out the door to class):

Sometimes I start to wonder where the line will be drawn. Then I come home to tiny, baby Clark after a long day of classes or wake up to the cutest little furry face and realize that far from driving me crazy, Clark keeps me sane. He gives me someone to come home to in a city where I can count the people I know on one hand. He loves me just for being there (and for providing fun toys and yummy meals twice a day, I’m sure). But, in a nutshell, often when I feel overwhelmed and scared and lonely in this crazy world called graduate school, I know that Clark will always make me smile.