When readers drop me notes or call me about something, I make a little note on the old floppy disk. Eventually enough information or common remarks from many of you cause me to try to render your thoughts into a coherent article. One of these days I hope I do one.
My file on pets and pet stories is full to the gigabyte so it seems it's time to tell a pet story. The problem is there are just so many heartwarming tales of pets and the people who live with and care for them, that I can't do justice to some without doing injustice by omission to others. Let me tell you a story and see if all of you who own pets can relate to it.
As a child my gathering of pets was typical of the 1950s. A half dozen parakeets and canaries, turtles, goldfish, and an occasional batch of lightning bugs in an old mason jar, were always a part of my upbringing. The principle pets for my family of course were the family dogs. Sparky, Skipper, and ever reliable Rusty helped raise me in Chicago during the 50's and 60's. It seems the only animals I never called my own were an alligator, which was a craze back then…and a cat.
My wife Sharon and I were married in 1979.We had talked about a pet dog, but realized that with both our families living in Chicago, leaving a dog at home while we made weekend visits up north just didn't seem fair to either our rugs or the dog's bladder. We talked about getting a cat because they can be left for a few days with a good bowl of food and a clean litter box.
One day, when I came home from work, a little multi colored baby kitten was in the garage. Sharon knew folks who were looking for homes for their litter of kittens and she just couldn't resist this little ball of fuzz. The kitten's head showed markings in the shape of the letter M that caused me to think of a good friend of mine, Mike Murphy, so we named the little cat Murphy.
That first summer we bought an unfinished home in Eureka, Illinois and I took the summer off work to finish out the home. It was during those days that Murphy and I would begin a bonding process that would fulfill me for the next 17 years.
I would be working outside, painting or sawing. Murphy would be in the huge back yard, chasing grasshoppers or butterflies as all kittens do. Never would she stray too far from me. Always she would come at the run when I called her. A trait other cat lovers tell me is rare in this most independent minded of pets.
We had lunch together and would read the newspaper together. That is after I moved Murphy off of the part of the paper she was laying on. This habit of being right in the middle of things never left Murphy's personality. Ask my son how often we would play board games and old Murph would come in the room, plop down in the middle of the board and start purring. It was impossible though to ever get mad at that darn cat.
Murphy had a remarkable trait that I have never seen in any other feline. She would purr so loud that you could hear her in another room. Many were the nights when Murphy, asleep at the bottom of our bed, would purr so loud she would wake my wife and I from a sound nights sleep. Sometimes a "Murphy shut up" would do the trick. Other times, Murphy knowing she couldn't shut off her purr machine, would just get up and walk out of the room. Yes we could hear her purring all the way down the hall.
As the years went by and Murphy slowed down, she began to gain weight. Her life became simple and basic. Take a little nap, eat a little food, and find somebody's lap to lie on and get a good scratch job. In later years it got to the point that as soon as I sat down anywhere, there was old Murphy on my lap, ducking her head under my hand looking for a little attention. You could never give that cat enough scratches.
She also had another very strange habit that I have never seen before. When you picked her up she would open her forepaws and place them around your sides. Many are the witnesses who would say;" Is she hugging you?" She was, and I miss it terribly. In 1998 I had to have Murphy put to sleep.
She began losing weight. Her legs wouldn't work as they should and she couldn't keep her food down. Ever the good cat, she used her litter box when she would loose her meal.
Because she couldn’t keep her food down she was always starving and I couldn’t bear to see her so miserable.
After procrastinating for weeks, I took Murphy to the vet to end her suffering. I remember sitting in the car in the parking lot, trying to tell myself this was the right thing to do. I remember Murphy sitting in my lap, her paws around me in a hug. I wondered if she knew what was happening as I sat there blubbering like an idiot, trying to gain my composure. I wondered if she too felt that it was time to leave the world and her now sickly body.
After what seemed an hour, I sucked it up and went in the veterinarian clinic. Everyone understood the agony I was in and tried their best to help me through this. The Vet explained what was going to happen as if he were telling me about an operation I was about to have performed on a loved one or myself. I held my little buddy while she was given the lethal sedative and used every ounce of manhood I had to remain stoic.
I almost changed my mind a dozen times, but Murph was too sick. She needed peace. In only a moment, 17 years of living experiences were turned into just memories. I had built a little cypress casket for my buddy and placed her in it. Rushing out of the vet with the wooden box, I made the drive home disconsolate. I brought Murphy back into the house so that our new kitten, Smirky, could see Murphy and not spend the next two weeks sniffing about the house looking for her mentor. You could tell from the new kitten's reaction that she understood what had happened to Murphy. The instincts of the animal world include somehow the understanding of death.
I remember sitting on the kitchen floor, my back against the refrigerator trying to explain to Smirky why I had done what I had just done. I remember telling Smirk that I hated myself right then and asked the little kitten who made me the judge of life over one of God's creatures. Smirky just sat on the floor, looking strangely at me and sniffing the air around Murphy from time to time.
I had decided to bury my pet in the front yard next to the soft maple. The day was cold and rainy, the ground, hard and unforgiving to the blade of my shovel. I recall being thankful for the rain. It shielded my emotions from many the motorist who honked as they drove by. As the last tuft of grass was laid back over the simple grave, I recited a verse used often by the author and Veterinarian James Herriot.
“All things bright and beautiful All creatures' great and small All things wise and wonderful The Lord God made them all." I believe there is a heaven. I don't know if I belong there or not. But I need all of you to know that if there is a heaven, a little cat by the name of Murphy is up there, no doubt sitting on someone's lap catching a few scratches.
Freelance writer, columnist, author and writing coach, ex-Chicagoan Mike Fak presently resides in Central Illinois. More information about Mike's services are available at his home website www.mikefak.com
Mike currently writes primarily humor columns for searchwarp bi-weekly and is the managing editor of www.lincolndailynews.com
» left by Louise from NewYork (2 years 20 days ago.)
An article only an animal lover will understand - I felt his joy and I especially felt his pain. Respond to this comment
» left by Kelly Everhart from Winston-Salem (362 days 9 hours ago.)
I know several times over exactly how you felt. And it never stops us from doing it all over again Respond to this comment
» left by Mike Fak(6,526) Mike Fak (362 days 4 hours ago.)
No it doesn't Kelly. But there are great new moments along the way. Check out my story a cardboard box for a home in my archives here to see what I mean. Thanks for reading. Mike Respond to this comment
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