In Memory: Gabby the Cat

To My Beloved Cat,

I remember meeting you 11 years ago in South Dakota. You walked through my friend's door and fell over; tired from just having given birth to five kittens and from being kicked by the evil people next door. I stayed up with you that night, feeding you a teaspoon of cat food every couple of hours. The next morning, my friend woke me up and said "Uh, I think you have cats," as you had moved all five kittens to their porch.

I took you (and the kittens) home with me; I had just moved in and the first night didn't know the trick to locking the back door (Ah, college housing). The next morning the door was open (and there wasn't a screen). You were standing inside the door and when you saw me, you jumped outside. I told you that you were free to go if you wished; you looked at me and jumped back inside.

It took six months for you to jump up next to me and a year for you to voluntarily jump into my lap; the internal and external scars from the evils took quite awhile to heal. You became my judge of character -- the Gabby test -- you were always right.

You never left the yard; content to lay on the front porch or to mutilate grasshoppers for your whimsical play. I kept finding grasshoppers throughout the house with only leg. One day, I realized that you were the culprit; made it significantly easier to play with them as they would just hop around in a circle and you could lay down to bat at them. Ingenious!

We then moved across the state for law school where you discovered your love of all things white: milk, cream cheese, yogurt. One morning, I had cream cheesed (yes, it is a verb) a bagel and left it on the table, returning to the kitchen for coffee. Upon my return, there was no cream cheese left; the bread looked dry. I re-cream cheesed the bagel thinking I must have been nuts and started eating it, only to look over and see you licking the remains of some cheese cream from your whiskers. I ate the bagel anyway.

Five years ago, after we moved to DC, you came down with cancer and had part of your jaw removed. Six days after major surgery, you'd had enough of the feeding tube and starting eating your cat food. Your resilience and tenacity amazed me.

A year ago you were diagnosed with cancer again but this time there was no surgical fix. Instead, you took your medicine everyday and chemo every two weeks. And you fought with all your might.

For 11 years, you slept on my pillow and greeted me at the door. You were there when I passed the bar, got my job and for every promotion. You were there through all the ex-crazys and for the crying when the non-crazys moved on. New Years Eve this past year, you fell asleep in Hotel Lobby's lap; he was already asleep (long before the ball dropped).

This morning you died; around 8:20am. Your son (one of the kittens) and I stayed up with you last night as you stopped purring around midnight. I checked on you at 6:30 and fell asleep. Many thanks to KC for calling at 8 to see how you were (as he woke me up). I picked you up to take you downstairs for breakfast, you had a seizure, I put you on the sofa, you put your head down and died. I have never felt so alone as I did in that moment.

A bit later, I had some cereal (as my mother commanded that I eat) and after finishing, I put the bowl on the floor for you as you would lap up the remaining milk (sometimes you were bold enough that you wouldn't wait for me to finish), but this time, it was not to be.

A few hours later, I wrapped you in a towel and we took one last ride to the vets; I will pick up your ashes in a couple of weeks so I can have you with me.

My girl; I thank you for the memories and the love.

In closing, the words of T.S. Elliot:

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits -- and that what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do --
And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers --
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.