Reekie and Moo and the Things They Do...July 12, 1999

Reekie and Moo and the Things They Do...July 12, 1999

I am unusually sensitive and anxiety prone to the well being of my pets, Reekie, Moo, Will, and Gull. Moreso with dogs Reekie and Moo, because they seem to find trouble in the most unlikely places. Any scrape, scratch, runny nose, dry nose, vomiting, etcetera, and I am to the vet for an examination. I should probably have a corresponding shrink appointment. I write about this because it can be debilitating at times, to the point where I hyperfocus on one of them if he or she has gotten into a mess. I cannot get through the day. I am frozen in fear, sometimes. I know how this originated, and I know that time will most likely heal this particualr wound. Perhaps writing something about it will expedite the prcocess.

Alex was a terrific cat. He was almost pure Russian Blue. He had a short, silver coat that would reflect varying shades of blue in different light. He had big, yellow-green eyes that became wide when he was happy and excited, narrow when he was agitated or angry. He had a long, narrow nose that made him mouse-like in facial features. I rescued him from a pet store for the grand price of ten dollars; they probably got him from a pet mill operating under deplorable conditions. Originally, he was a gift to my then wife, a devout cat person. I was more fond of dogs at the time. I quickly became a convert. He quickly became my cat, my little buddy.

I believe it was Alex's personality that won me over so wholly to cats in general. His disposition was not unlike that of the "family dog". He would always run and greet me at the door after returning home. He seemed to always want to please, and was uncommonly, overtly affectionate. He would beg for scraps at the dinner table. He would play fetch with those little sponge balls, bringing one to my feet, and chasing after it once thrown. He would bring it right back, poste haste, and plop it right at my feet again. He slept on my head as a kitten, and on my tummy as an adult. He would lick my chin in his dreams, while I was drifting off to sleep. He was such an old, gentle spirit.

Alex was four when my ex-wife and I separated. To her consternation, I insisted that I keep Alex. He had bonded with me so completely, and I needed him. I needed his unconditional love, acceptance, and company during what has symbolized the most traumatic, yet most actualizing, experience of my life. All Alex ever asked for in return for his devotion was a full belly, a clean litter box, and a scritch or two here and there.

I let him down. I did not keep my end of the bargain. The consequences are ever lasting.

By the time I noticed that Alex was sick, my separation had been long, drawn out, unsettled, and unending. I had been deep in depression, wallowing in self pity, and miserable to be around most of the time. I do not know how long he suffered, unnoticed, in pain. It took his being near death for me to realize that he was really not okay. The effect on my senses was as a lightning bolt clears the moisture-laden air. I rushed him to the vet, only to find out he was in complete kidney and renal failure. The vet could not figure out what the cause was. After a few days, he seemed to improve, and I was able to bring him home. However, he would not eat, drink, and continued to suffer renal failure. I took him back to the vet, and he never saw home again.

It would have cost hundreds, if not in the thousands, to try and determine what was wrong with dear Alex. He would have had to been shipped to a different province, and there was little hope for recovery at the outset. I decided to let him go, as I had seen so many other precious things slip away from my grasp in recent months.

Petting Alex in his cage as I said good-bye for the last time was the most heart-wrenching experience. It tied knots in my stomache. My whole body was in agony. My spirit ached, still aches. I know he wanted to come home, wanted to sleep on my tummy, wanted me to make the hurt stop. As I scratched his head, kissed his little nose, as he rubbed against my wrist, I apologised over and over and over to him, not knowing if he understood, and not knowing if I was forgiven. I still remember walking out of the vet office as vividly as it were yesterday. It has been four years.

I never knew what happened to Alex. The autopsy was inconclusive. I speculate that he got into the storage shed and ate a small amount of vermin poison, stuff that had been there from previous tenants perhaps years ago. I can still not forgive myself. Perhaps I am not meant to. Perhaps this is a lesson I need to carry to my grave, to remember in my next incarnation. I know that the pain will stay with me for eternity. He was my responsibility. I blew it. He asked for so little.

So, I freaked when Mouine got into some old fibreglass insulation yesterday. It was covering a dryer vent in my bathroom, and I did not even think about it as I left her and Reekie alone for a couple hours yesterday. When I got home, there were shreds of it all over the floor upstairs. I was testing her out being home for little pieces of time. Both of us failed. I could do little yesterday in my agonizing over her. I made sure she drank. I made sure she ate. I made sure she went potty. I did not care if it was in the house. I made sure she wanted to play.

Moo is okay.

Do I have you to thank for that, Alex?

...Blessed Be