Despite my not inconsiderable abilities, I really do not like to write. I’d rather be doing heroic things and getting the rewards that always come my way. Yet it’s odd we have a blog, and most of the writing falls to me.
Trying to put the loss of a loved one into words is the worst of the dreadful job of writing. It’s a painful thing to think about. A fellow writer and apparently someone who did like to write, CS Lewis, summed it up better in a few words than I could in a long post:
The death of a beloved is an amputation.
About 2 years ago, a reader of this blog, Connie in Pennsylvania, reached out to share her loss of OC the Cat. It hit me hard.
Connie and her husband rescued OC in the fall of 2008. With a lot of patience, they got OC to come inside their home and make it his own. Days full of biscuits and naps on a sofa are infinitely better than confronting the perils of an outdoor life. Sometimes, cats have to learn every detail of a new place before accepting it gracefully, and it takes a lot of patience to go through this. Fortunately for OC, Connie and her family had that patience. Once inside, OC got the medical care he needed. Most of all, he got a home with people that loved him.
From Connie’s description, OC was a “very timid, gentle boy with a soft way about him. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.” That is saying a lot. People often describe me as soft and gentle, but I don’t hesitate to nip at puppies so they learn my rules. Even though he wasn’t a terrier, OC was clearly a smart cat. He called dibs on the best recliner in the living room and relaxed at the fireplace in chilly winters. If you’re going to call dibs, why not call dibs on the best spot? Connie and her family got to enjoy about 7 1/2 years with OC. She wrote:
We accepted him just as he was. And he did the same for us.
In late January 2016 OC fell victim to hemangiosarcoma, a deadly cancer that is rare in cats. I read once that hemangiosarcoma is quick and deadly, like a lightning bolt. That’s just another reminder why I hate loud noises in the sky.
Hemangiosarcoma is the same devil that took our Otto much too soon. Some say that hemangiosarcoma in cats might be tied to having a light colored coat and spending too much time in the sun, but that’s just a guess. Connie mentioned that one day OC came down with a limp but quickly recovered. Some say a limp is associated with hemangiosarcoma, but it’s just as likely to be running a little too fast to get a biscuit. With so few cases, there’s not much to go on. It’s an evil disease, and until someone makes some progress in stopping it, there’s nothing good to say about it. No matter the early signs, right now there isn’t a way to stop hemangiosarcoma.
Anyway, I’ve had these pictures of OC tucked into a corner of my bed for about 2 years. Anyone that has seen my bed knows I collect my favorite things there. I get around to everything I put there sooner or later. Like the other treasures I hide in my bed, I’d pull the pictures out often. I’d stare at them blankly for a bit, and push them back into a safe corner. Each time, looking at them was a reminder that someone misses OC the same way we miss Otto. In a way the pictures reminded me of being helpless, like confronting those scary noises when the skies turn dark and full of thunder. It was good to think of Otto, but not so good to think of not being able to stop the hurt that comes to those we love.
Last September, we lost our own Milo. From Connie’s description, OC was like Milo: a couple of big, strong orange cats with loads of personality. Milo never mentioned going to Pennsylvania, but I think if he did and met OC, they probably would have been good friends. OC would hide from strangers under a bed, but Milo would have taken that as invitation to run around playing a game of “hide and seek.” I guess Milo discovered that it’s harder to be fearful when you’re playing a game.
I’ve always felt that any blog post I’d write wouldn’t do justice to what I felt. Maybe that made it harder for me to write something. We had some heavy thunder a few days ago, and I rushed to my bed, mainly to make sure the bed was still safe. I pulled out the pictures of OC, and it made me think that he was loved and missed, just like we love and miss Otto and Milo. I pulled out our dog-eared copy of Richard Bach’s Illusions, Otto’s favorite book. Without thinking, I opened to the page and read:
Don’t be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.
That thought motivated me to get out of bed and finish this post.
Looking back, it was odd how the post came together. I can just picture Otto, Milo, and OC smiling down on me, glad that they pushed me out of my bed to do something. I think that was their plan all along.
My getting out of bed and doing something isn’t really important. All that is important is we love you and miss you. Rest in peace, Otto. Rest in peace Milo the cat. Rest in peace, OC the cat.
Leave a Reply