Kossers are straight up political junkies and progressives. But, we also wear other hats: parent, child, spousal unit, lover, pet owner., etc. I have shoved my anger and indignation into the ether on DK for any number of reasons.
But, sometimes I (you) just want to say something that is not a rant about Rick Perry or a reasoned analysis of a pressing political or social issue. This is one of those moments for me. This post is about my cat, a very special cat, Paco.
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A friend sent me a photo today of a kitten up for adoption. He is a lovely young cat with completely black fur and golden eyes. I have been thinking about bringing a cat into our household. But, I can't adopt this one.
He reminds me too much of Paco, who left the house one evening a couple of years ago and never returned. I don’t think he took a hike in search of greener pastures. Instead, I'm afraid the coyotes who sometimes roamed near our home caught him too far from sanctuary.
Who lets their cat out in a neighborhood where there are sometimes coyotes? Anyone with whom Paco lived. He was an outdoor cat, who would not tolerate imprisonment. He spent most of his time indoors, that was where the food was after all, but he liked his time outdoors.
Paco arrived at our home as one of the all too common victims of the end of the semester at a major university. Students just love having pets. But, when time comes to head home for the summer, the insensitive shits know their parents won't welcome Spike or Fluffy. So, our future leaders dump their pets out in the "country" to "live free."
Paco had been living in a stand of trees on my neighbors’ property. Their own cat would brook no intrusions on his domain, so we took in the poor bedraggled little ball of black fur. He had obviously been an apartment cat. He first approached grass as a strange substance that might swallow him up at any moment—each step was a slow, high-stepping commitment.
We kept him in our screened porch for his first few days with us. When I awoke and before I went to bed, I would go out, take him in my arms, lay him beside my neck and pet him. After a trip to the vet, he joined the family, which included, at different points, some combination of two adults, one grandson, a grandson and a granddaughter, a niece, and one or two dogs.
None of these variations affected Paco, who was supremely confident concerning his role in the household and with me. Those early times when he rested with his head on my shoulder had been strongly imprinted. He would, whenever he wanted affection, simply walk up to me, raise his two front paws, wait for me to pick him up, put his head on my shoulder, and give him the affection he knew was his due.
He was, of course, oblivious to what I might be doing when he wanted his due. I could be working at the computer or reading one of those antique things called "books." I mean he was completely oblivious. One day I was holding a project team meeting at our home. Eight university faculty and researchers were with me at our dinner table. The table was covered with coffee cups, computers, cords, and stacks of paper. In the middle of a somewhat heated exchange between two senior faculty, Paco jumped up on one end of the table.
All conversation stopped, as he sauntered royally down the table, avoiding all obstacles until he reached the end of the table where I sat. Everyone stared as he stopped, sat down, reached out and put his paws on my shoulders, waiting for me to gather him into my arms, which of course was exactly what I did. They meeting, of course, fell apart for a bit after that. I might have been the team leader, but after that display everyone knew in whose home they were being tolerated. He was that kind of cat.
As he aged, he had a variety of health problems that put him at our vet's overnight. The young vet techs, who turned over rapidly, never really knew him when he was younger and healthier. They just knew him as a rather difficult fellow. But, our vet knew the real Paco. She would walk by the cage where he was ensconced and receiving his treatments. He would raise his paws to her. She knew what that meant, and she never failed to take him in her arms and give him some of the love he wanted and deserved.
Paco almost always slept with us. He would settle at the head of the bed. He would put his muzzle in my ear and purr us both to sleep. Sometimes, he would hit dreamland before I did, and I would find sleep myself, listening to his soft, rhythmic breathing.
Mornings were a different matter. If he awoke before me and wanted his breakfast, he would lick my eyebrows. If I was not responsive, he would then lick an eyelid. Yes, as you might guess, a cat’s sandpaper-like tongue on the sensitive skin of an eyelid is a very effective alarm clock.
I began using a CPAP for apnea. Some cats might have decided they needed a more quiet setting. Paco was not fazed. He knew his place, and his noisy contraption was not moving him out of it.
Paco's health was becoming somewhat precarious. I feared we and he were in for another stint in hospital with tubes and whatnot. I worried about him, and I worried about the costs. Moderate to high three figure vet bills, with two older dogs and an ailing cat, were becoming a regular experience.
Then, Paco disappeared. We searched for days to no avail. Then, one night as I drifted into sleep, I felt the weight of paws on the sheet, shuffling up toward my head. A soft muzzle nestled into my ear, and I heard that familiar purr. It was not Paco returning to his rightful place. It may have been a dream; it may have been something else. All I know is that it was Paco, whispering his love and saying a final goodbye.