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John Katsilometes
Near the end, Bonnie lording over the coffeemaker.
Published Tuesday, Aug. 25, 2009 | 12:02 p.m.
Updated Tuesday, Aug. 25, 2009 | 10:42 p.m.
She used to gingerly step across my hands as I worked as if trying to type something herself. As the years passed and her fascination with my dancing fingers became one of our many rituals, I wondered, if she were to write a story, what would that story be?
She would probably begin with the day we picked up her and her brother from the Humane Society shelter in Redding, Calif. She was nestled back in a corner, fetal-like. Her daffy brother was clung to the bars of the cage, wailing for release from captivity. The hard sell worked, and we took them both so they would keep each other occupied when the house was not. They were no more than a month old. This was nearly 15 years ago, in October 1994, in another lifetime.
In this tale, she would write a chapter on the new house, which probably seemed as large as the whole outdoors to a kitten so small she curled up in the palm of my hand. She’d remember the party we once had, the weekend after we adopted her and her brother, before the names Bonnie and Clyde had even been decided. It was meant to be a routine weekend house party of drinks and noshes and rock ’n’ roll. Instead, for hours a dozen friends squatted on the living room floor, talking loudly and laughing as the two tireless kittens wrestled and jumped and scrambled across the carpet.
She’d remember, hauntingly, the day she was nearly crushed by a car, how she hardly whimpered as she crawled into the laundry room, her injuries and circumstance discovered only because her fur was dirty from asphalt and rubber, and her claws ground down from grabbing at the street. She might write that she should have been killed that day, at age 1, and how she was living on someone else’s time ever since.
She’d recall the grueling two-day road trip to Las Vegas, cooped up in the flatly white Pet Taxi she grew to loathe. She’d wonder what happened to Clyde that day in February eight years ago, when he simply vanished, never to be recovered. She’d talk of all the moves, from condos to a townhouse, a funky loft, a house, then another, all the changes in faces and surroundings. She’d tell of knowing when the times were great and not such. How she met me at the door the day I staggered home after losing a job, how she rested silently on my lap as the news of changes in life were learned, and how I’d stroke her head when learning of crisis in the family and when I had to embark on some new and foreign path.
She might write of her final night, of how in a final burst of adrenaline, she swatted at yet another new housemate -- a 3-month old kitten who merely wanted to play and race and frolic in the same way she had so long ago. The new kitten hopped onto the bed, which, aside from the keypad, was Bonnie’s sacrosanct territory. The old gal reared back and slapped the energetic kitty with a sweeping right paw, using such force that the little interloper toppled backward onto the floor. There was a final sprint through the house, utter chaos that harkened to the wild early days of Bonnie and Clyde.
The last chapter would be written in a cool, antiseptic treatment room in a veterinary clinic, the odor of rubbing alcohol faint in the air. The veterinarian, a wonderful man who reminds me quite a lot of my own veterinarian father, pries open her mouth and gazes inside. You look not at her, but him, remembering the look on Dad’s face as he examined sick animals. The eyebrows pinch and the lips purse, and you know, you just know, you aren’t taking your pet home. Not today, not again.
You remember, as you leave the clinic with your head spinning, of what Dad always said, that if you are a loving and responsible pet parent, you will have your heart broken. It is the wrenching reality, and there is nothing, no measure of preparation, to change that. So you thank the doctor and spend a long and quiet time with her, then leave the clinic carrying an empty Pet Taxi but a full heart.
This story, Bonnie’s story, ends that way, and for the moment, the hands sit still.
Well done, my friend. It reminds me of the day when my little dog didn't come home and my hands sat still.
Phenomenal piece, Johnny. I can't imagine this was easy to write. I hope little Shooty brings you as much joy as Bonnie did for all those years :)
"You remember, as you leave the clinic with your head spinning, of what Dad always said, that if you are a loving and responsible pet parent, you will have your heart broken."
This is so true. What a lovely eulogy. RIP Bonnie.
Simply beautiful, Johnny. I often saw her typing "with" you and know how much you loved her, and she you. I loved her, too . . . Poppy, not so much.
Thank you for a beautiful story of love, loyality and respect.
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 your 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 Rainbow Bridge together....
Author unknown...
Many time I have lived this story.
Thank you.
Beautiful story. I offer my condolences and the oft-quoted Townsend....
"We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan. . ."
A touching, beautifully written, tribute to your furry friend and companion. The last thing we do for our pets is often the hardest.
This is such a well written, loving tribute to a dear friend. No too long ago, we had two of our cats die after 20 years of being with us. It certainly is heart breaking.
Thank you for this column, painful though it be!
Great story, Jane Ann, er, I mean John Kats.
WOW - my eyes were filling up half way down the story - I have been there - done that. Think your special guys are with all my special ones - over the rainbow bridge... You should get this put in a special book... Thanks for the great story
true we take in these lives into ours knowing we will see the day that thier life ends and we still do it becuase we know we can give them a life that is full of love
Thanks for sharing. I too have been there done that, and prepare for my 16 yr old shelter cat to do the same. I've been trying to be tough about it but I will miss her "nagging" once she's gone. Good luck with the new kitten.
You are a wonderful writer! You so beautifully capture the endless love affair and heartbreak that those of us who love animals live. For me life without my critters would be no life at all, but when they die I am inconsolable. What keeps me going is the fact that there is always another furkid to be rescued. Your article made me cry but also made me feel so good at your deep kndness and the sweetness that just shines through. I hope you will write more about your new kitten. You're a gifted writer.
Hildy Morgan (Shannon's Mom)
"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
"Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance." -- Kahlil Gibran
http://www.katsandogz.com/ondeath.html
Hi John. AJ sent us your touching piece about Bonnie. He knows how heartbroken Steve and I were when we lost Abraham (Steve's soul mate and my second "child")at age 20! We knew at the time that 20 was old for a cat but it didn't lessen the pain and sadness. Five years later and Marcus brought us Karma (a tiny rescue kitten) for Fathers Day. In just a few short weeks she has taken over our hearts and our home and has become the center of everyone's attention. We loved your story (beautifully written) and we send you our best. Next time we see you we'll share stories. Judy and Steve Eaton