Thursday, September 16, 2010

Tangerine Cat, 2009-10

"He came into our family a year ago and won our hearts in seconds. He purred like no other cat. He loved us. Something hit him or he fell a week ago and it messed up his insides and we had to have him put to sleep today. Even though he was in a lot of pain he climbed onto us and purred as loud as he could until it was time for his shot.

You wouldn't think you could cry so hard for an animal you've only known for a year but you can.

I think he had a good year with us. It was fun watching him grow. I only wish we could have had him longer and watched him get old.

Goodbye Tangerine. Tangeriney weenie. Weeny cat. I loved you. We all did."

There are lots of pictures of the tiny orange cat with the absurdly loud motor on my brother Dru's Flickr page, but this one best represents the kitten (later, full-grown cat) that I remember from my occasional visits to the far end of the Fraser Valley. A miniature tiger weaving his way through the back garden among the cabbages and invasive morning glory vines, or bolting across the scrappy lawn covered in fallen plums to pounce on the family's feline matriarch, Blasterella, or lurking perched on top of the beehive-shaped black plastic compost bin, or the wrecked brick barbecue.

In the night I dreamed I was burying Rose T. Cat in a little satin-lined cardboard box below the high tide line at Whytecliff Park. Woke to cool air, a siren somewhere, light rain, the lights of the city visible, reflected, on the low clouds.

Always wanting to remember, to not say goodbye.

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