When my co-worker showed me pictures of the kittens a stray cat had birthed in her barn, I took a fancy to the one they called Ralph. When I met him in person, I lost my heart. We almost walked away that day. I was shy of commitment, knowing love lasts forever, but life doesn’t. But Mark insisted. The farm was an hour’s drive away, he said. If we left without kitty, we’d probably never come back. In the car on the way home, I held him. His heart drummed against my bare hands. He writhed and trembled, his meow was like the chirping of a tiny bird. To calm him I spoke quietly – promised we’d always love him. Said he’d have a wonderful life. We named him Spike. Three sensitive creatures under the same roof learn much from each other. Raised voices sent Spike scurrying under the bed. Once Mark and I made up, we’d always be sure kitty understood everything was okay again. There was no greater happiness than being alone together by the fireplace on a winter’s night, him curled in one or another of our laps. Every evening he ran to meet us, flopping down for belly rubs. He waited patiently at meal times, tail neatly wrapped around his feet, pink tongue licking his chops. When we returned from vacation, he’d make us feel guilty by howling for hours. Being held like a baby really pissed him off, but he could still be coaxed to give kisses. His neck smelled really good. By turns stubborn and irascible, whip-smart and mischievous, delicate and loving, he had a sweet side many never saw. I can assure you it was a mile wide. He left us last night, while we soothed him with loving whispers, petting his tired little body where he lay on our bedroom floor. This morning I’m numb and so sad I can barely speak. All we have left of Spike is a little bit of fur. But we carry with us a lifetime of wonderful memories. I’ll love you forever, bunny.
Posted on: Thu, 23 Oct 2014 14:27:34 +0000
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