By: grand-mere

grand-mere — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 19:00:02 +0000

As I read your eulogy and Carolyn’s to Camus tears streamed. Tears for your loss, tears for the Camus I knew over the years–the pampered kitten who sat in the straw hat, the center of your home life, your first child, the focus of much care, the cat who had to go on a diet and would greedily consume all but two pellets of his allotment of dried food, the picky cat for whom I searched for just the right can of Fancy Feast (there were so many choices!), the cat who rarely honored one by brushing against your let but who would tolerate little touch in return, the cat who hardly ever spoke but who had a fine purr, a regal and aloof cat who ruled his limited world, who once played with fanciful feathers dangled before him but would tire of the game before the dangler would have quit, who left cat hair everywhere before he had more disturbing leavings, the cat who for unknowable reasons chose to pee on the carpet under the expanse of front window (inside the house) in Charlottesville which finally caused AC to rip up carpet and pad and learn to beautify concrete floors with an acid stain and hours and hours of hard labor, the cat who before he moved to California and a house with an enclosed back yard got to go out the back door on a leash and swish his tail at passing birds. On my last November/December visit I felt Camus had mellowed. He rubbed against my leg (more than just a faint brush) and deigned to allow light patting–a significant change in our relationship. And I cried for Tom, because I could have substituted “Tom” for “Camus” in much of what you wrote. I recognized the appetite loss, the weight loss, the loss of stability, the overwhelming need to sleep, the fact that all discomfort can not be cured, that lives end. The prime significance, though, is not that we have lost our friend and companion but that we have loved them with all our hearts and that they have become entwined in our lives and that we have cared for them til death parted us. The deep down grief has a way of watering the garden of appreciation–appreciating those that are in our lives and the greater web of life. We acknowledge not just our loss but our gain in the connection we had, the things we learned that are a part of who we have become to this point. And I think you did the right thing by putting Camus “to sleep”. When I was holding Stovepipe in my lap while she was getting the fatal shot, I could not help but think that I should be so lucky to die peacefully in the arms of those whom I loved and who loved me. If I could have taken Tom in for the same shot a few days before his more difficult passing, I would have. (Remember that, my dear children, when I am in Camus situation.) Love, Mom/Eve/Grand-mere

Comments on: A life passing

By: grand-mere