A long, long time ago, back when I was just a wee thing, my cousin Jonathan placed a "curse" on my whole extended family. This sounds weird, I know, but if you knew him you wouldn't be surprised. Actually I'm glad I've graduated because I sometimes lived in fear knowing we attended the same University. Now, I'm no expert as far as the dark arts go, and since he was no more than 12 at the time, I have a feeling that this curse-of-sorts actually just affects my immediate family. And this is what it entails: pets.
Every pet my family has ever owned has died prematurely. Without exception. There was my first cat Dabid - that's right, it's Dabid not David - who mysteriously "disappeared". But I knew the truth. The wild cats ate him. And believe you me, when you live out in the sticks of the central valley, everyone fears the feral wild cats. So I did what any broken-hearted child would do: I killed all the wild cats in the surrounding area with a toxic concoction I made out of tomato plant leaves, dirt and lighter fluid. Revenge is sweet.
Then there was my next cat, Coco. Who fell out of a tree as a kitten, got brain damage, turned crazy, and died. And then Abby, our first dog. A true mutt if there ever was one, but I loved it despite it's MANY flaws. While we were on vacation, our neighbors were watching it, and forgot to lock the gate after they fed her. So she made the great escape, got as far as the next street over, and consequently ate some rat poison and died.
THEN we got a bird. Only because my dad randomly FOUND IT sitting in a tree so he brought it home. It was this beautiful lime green and yellow parakeet, who scared the living daylights out of me because it would chase you if you were wearing socks. (Is anyone else noticing a strange pattern with my pets and mental health issues?) Well. Little Jake Hunter, Samwise's best friend, was over. And as all little boys are wont to do, they were playing swords. Jake didn't see the freaky bird running around, so he accidentally whacked it with his sword. Pigwidgeon (the bird) got all puffy and swollen and wouldn't move, even if you poked it. It stayed that way for like three whole days. And then one morning Paige wakes up to find Pigwidgeon moving around, and she gets so excited that she picks him up out of the cage and squueeeezes him with love. He got all weird and puffy again, so as I come waltzing into the family room the next day I see Paige playing with the very dead Pigwidgeon - she was stuffing him into a sock. And his head was flopping around all over the place. So I look at my dad who is watching this like it's NORMAL, and he says, Well she doesn't really know it's dead, and it's not like he cares now.
Which brings me to present day. We have no animals, since we decided to do a service to the animal kingdom by just staying away. But there's this cat who lives down the street. Mac. And weirdly he decided he wanted to live with us. So over the many years that he has been coming around, we have begun to feed him, and then let him in. All the time. And in return he brings us rats and birds and other such treasures. He would let Paige dress him up, and let us cart him around. He chased after marbles and string and we would tease him relentlessly with deli ham.
So a few nights ago, one of the twins comes up to me and whispers, "We found Mac on the street. A car clipped him and he's dead." And you guys, I have to be honest. I cried. ME. Over a stupid cat that I always professed I didn't like. Which was of course a lie. I loved that stupid bag of fleas! I love that he would be on the sidewalk waiting for me when I got back from the gym so I could let him in the house. And when he would follow me around when I was the only one home so he wouldn't be lonely. And now we've gone and killed him. I think the only reason he lasted as long as he did was because he wasn't technically ours. Oh and don't even get me STARTED on the stupid neighbors who buried him in their backyard, even though Mac didn't even like them. I hate neighbors.
Besides the morbid tones of writing about a dead cat, this narrative is also sad because I just barely scratched the surface of our many animal...mishaps. So on this rather unhappy note, let's raise our glasses to our cat that wasn't really ours. Mac, you were the perfect cat for our family and I hope you are enjoying big balls of yarn and ham a-plenty in heaven.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
Oh sad! All of it! You really do have the worst luck with animals. Well, look at it this way, at least you don't have to claim allergies to avoid the poop scooping, frenzied baths, and hair shedding mania. Or, at least you can claim that the animals are actually allergic to you and not the other way around. :) So sorry about your cat friend. I thank him for a hilarious blog post, though. Good luck with your next stray!
That is a sad story Tara! I think you need to get a new cat but this time along the lines of special agent jack bauer who was born in a pool a gasoline on a rusty piece of scrap metal who jumps through barbed wire into a vat of hot tar. He'd be indestructible and perfect for your family.
cheers.
With heartfelt empathy and love, these tapes provide all animal lovers with a compelling message of hope and renewal. The author's healing and gentle voice leads the listener through a journey of understanding grief and how animal loss is different. Listeners learn not only how to survive and cope through loss, but to navigate their way to truly heal and find meaningful growth. They are guided through a magical meditation with an original score of soothing music.
_________________________________
mikemathew
guerilla
sorry to hear about mac. you forgot to mention how your brothers use to put your cat in the pillow case and throw them around.
oh and thank you for mentioning my leather cat outfit on my blog...for future reference, my mother in law reads my blog. every day.
:)
No pet can compare to Meg, the little burrito. May she rest in peace.
Post a Comment