BASED ON A TRUE STORY

(most of the time)

A

series

by Bad Billy Laveau

must have seen the gleam in my eye. She said, “You can’t keep the cat. She has a home somewhere.” But sympathy won over and within an hour, my wife opened a can of salmon and fed the cat. I built a warm bed inside our animal crate, complete with blankets, furniture cover wrapped around the crate, and elevate 3 feet. Cats like that. They feel safe.

Midnight Shadow (we later shorten it to Midnight) became an integral part of our family. She was an outside cat. She was a mighty hunter and periodically presented us with evidence of her skill. Mice, small snakes, moles, voles, rabbits, squirrels, skinks. Midnight did not see us eat and thought we were starving. (That is what cats do that are part of our family. Don’t scold them. Appreciate them.) I would sit on the steps and eat a sandwich. That would be a lull in Midnight’s foraging for us … for a while and then the cycle would repeat. I never figured out the preventive timing for dinning with Midnight on the back steps.

One summer, Midnight began pacing on our front porch, looking intently at the ceiling, her tail in the slow twitch characterizing her hunting mode. Finally, we realized what was up. Midnight sensed, saw, heard, or somehow knew bats had infested our porch ceiling space. An exterminator came and said “wait a couple months to eradicate the bats. They are endangered in Georgia.” I like bats. They eat mosquitoes. We waited. Then the bats were sealed out. They moved on somewhere else.

A neighbor had attic bats a few years earlier. He did not discover them in time. It cost him $5,000 to get rid of them and repair the damage. Clearly Midnight saved us a ton of money. Her lifetime rent was paid in full, not counting the food she foraged for us.

Midnight was full grown when she came to us, about 4 years old the vet guessed. She aged gracefully. She walked the track each morning with me. She feared men, but allowed women and children to pet her. Midnight had a big following on the track. Most folks were amazed that Midnight faithfully exercised with me. This went on for eight years.

Then one dastardly day that shall dwell in semi-infamy, I noted a lump on her left hip. Long story, short: Sarcoma. An aggressive and deadly cancer. We went full-blown medical intervention. Biopsy. Ultrasound. Chest X-Ray. Specialty referral veterinarian center. All to no avail. The sarcoma went from ping pong ball size to grapefruit size in a matter of weeks. Surgery would require removal of her left back leg and left abdominal wall reconstruction. Pain would be intense. No guarantees. Life expectancy, even with surgery and chemotherapy and/ or radiation: Maybe 6 months. Most likely, less.

Midnight weakened. Lost weight. Never whined. Eating slowed. I refused to let her suffer any more. My heart could not take it. (I’m selfish like that.) Euthanasia was the only way. We buried Midnight in our back yard, in our pet garden grave yard. We ordered a grave stone. All our past pets have gravestones. It is the least we can do for a family member.

Then came my GRIEF. That is what this column is about. Grief. Medical schools teach Grief has 6 stages. Disbelief/ Shock. Sadness. Guilt. Anger. Fear. Physical Pain. I am now well versed in the first 4. I have no control over those feelings. I have chosen to not indulge in the latter 2. Instead, I substitute: Resolution. My heart is heavy. Tears sting my eyes when I see photos of Midnight … and I have a lot of them. My favorite is when she slept on my feet when I watched TV at night. Hence forth, my feet shall suffer a vacant chill that may last a long time.

Understanding the Steps of Grief helps one mentally adjust to death of a loved one, animal or human. Dwell in the moments of past happiness. Clear you mind of the last moments of terror and hurt. Resolution is the end point for the living. You always decide what resides in your mind. Chose wisely.

And that, I shall do. Midnight is forever gentle on my mind. Otherwise, she would be disappointed in me.