Gone But Not Forgotten

I do a beginning of the year slideshow each year to introduce myself and my rules to my students. 

 

I tell about my family, my hobbies, and my summer and I answer questions as they arise. 

 

Ever since starting this tradition a few years ago, I have introduced Annie as my cat. 

 

The kids have always ooohed and ahed at her beauty and then they proceeded to tell me about their pets. Inevitably, someone says that they used to have a pet but that something happened to it, and then that starts the stories of pets dying. And then someone usually gets sad. And ever so often, someone bursts into tears.

 

So I had a dilemma on Friday when I opened my slideshow for its annual update. 

 

Did I leave Annie’s picture and count her as my pet or did I delete Annie’s picture because of her unexpected passing on Thursday?

 

I didn’t want to erase her, but I also didn’t want to feel a stab of pain looking at her and knowing that she wasn’t here.

 

And I certainly didn’t want to intentionally explain that she got sick and that I had to put her down because of the aforementioned stories and tears.  

 

In the end, I took out her picture and simply said that I have one cat, Siggy Ray. 

 

I’ve had some of my students since kindergarten, so if they’ve paid attention over the past many years, then they should know that Annie is missing. 

 

So I’m prepared to be asked about her. I’m prepared to explain that she got sick and died. I’m prepared to accept that there may be a catch in my voice and that I may have to take a moment to pull myself together. And I’m prepared to put the car backs on the track after they derail!

 

But that doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy.

 

I’m going to see the slide five times a day for five days and be reminded that she’s not with me anymore.

 

And I’m going to miss her even more in those moments than I do now. 

 

Grief demands that it be felt, but grief challenges us to keep going.

 

So I will keep going.

 

Moving forward does not mean erasing a life.

 

Moving forward means taking the memories of what was and carrying their good parts into what will be.

 

And so that’s what I will do.

 

I will frame Annie’s paw print and picture and I will remember. 

 

She was not a perfect cat. But because she was Annie Mae. She was my cat. And I loved her. And love doesn’t die as easily as taking down a picture from a slideshow. 

 

Remember: 

Love and goodness live on. 

Seen and unseen. 

No matter what your grief today. 

 

Amen.  

Annie Mae is Very Sick

 

Annie Mae is very sick. 

She’s been to the vet twice in two weeks,

And this is after avoiding the vet for years. 

She had a fever and a UTI and 

She’s had medicine and fluids and time to heal. 

But she’s not getting any better. 

She won’t stretch. 

She won’t lay in her side. 

She’s not able to groom herself. 

She’s not able to jump. 

She’s walking weird. 

She’s lost weight. 

She’s barely eating and drinking. 

She’s barely going to the bathroom. 

She’s not going outside anymore. 

She’s not complaining. 

But she’s in pain.

And I am so very sad. 

 

Annie Mae came to us five years ago. 

I’ll never forget looking out the window and seeing her for the first time. 

We locked eyes and she meowed. 

And in that moment, I became her person and she became my cat. 

 

I have loved her something fierce. 

She’s never been sweet and cuddly, 

In fact she’s been quite feisty and spicy, 

But she would jump on my bed and bump her head into my hand and on my leg and turn circles in happiness  and make biscuits with glee until she would lay down right next to me and sleep. 

 

She would let me pet her and brush her and love on her and tell her her baby story until she was tired of it all and then she’d whap me. 

 

She would look forward to me coming home every day 

So that she could sit beside me and receive back scratches 

While I worked on my daily blackout poem. 

She may have been sleeping before my arrival—

And she had lots of good sleeping spots—

But as soon as she heard the chair creak, 

She would come sit with me. 

 

She’d tell my dad what to do—

When to feed her, 

When to let her out,

When to let her in, 

When she wanted pets. 

 

She even got my mom talking to her and looking after her. 

 

She had that way about her.

 

And her brother loved picking fights with her, 

Although she’d always win. 

 

But all that’s shifted in the past few weeks. 

And unless something drastically changes, 

I fear we may have to say goodbye to Annie Mae sooner than later. 

 

I couldn’t sleep so I stayed up late last night trying to imagine life without her—

Crying—

Grieving—

Trying to wrap my mind around it all—

Writing poems to help me process: 

 

It happened so fast. 

She was fine. Then she wasn’t. 

My sweet, feisty girl. 

 

—

 

I’ll open the attic door. 

And you’ll run inside to play. 

Pink insulation on your face. 

This time I won’t worry. 

 

—

 

You’re supposed to be in the hall.

Stretched out, showing your trap belly. 

And if I come near you, 

You scratch me. 

Because that’s what you do. 

 

—

 

He knows something’s wrong 

What do I tell your brother 

He’s looking for you 

 

—

 

Losing a pet is losing part of your heart. 

Pets are some of God’s greatest gifts 

But my goodness does it hurt when we have to say goodbye. 

 

I lay here trembling 

With quivering breath

Saltwater covered cheeks 

Maybe there’s a miracle 

Or maybe there’s not. 

 

Either way, 

Life will go on. 

It’s just that sometimes

It is so very hard.

Abandoned Animals

 

A few weeks ago, I got a text from a friend who had just picked up a puppy front the side of the road.

Someone had abandoned it.

She sent me a  picture. 

I immediately oohed and ahed at how cute he was

And then quickly began to wonder who would abandon such a cute little thing. 

Thankfully, my friend was able to adopt the puppy into her pack, 

and so Puppy, now known as Eddie,

Has a safe and loving home.

 

Last night, on my way home from game night, I stopped for gas.

As I was cleaning the trash out of my car,

A beautiful black pitbull mix with cute white socks came prancing up to me.

I looked to see if he had an owner, but he didn’t.

Then I noticed that he had a companion who was a little more shy.

She stayed back. 

I immediately knew that someone had dropped them at the gas station.

 

My heart sank. 

As much as my dad would love a dog,

We are not able to have a dog right now, 

Much less two,

And so I knew there was nothing I could do to help. 

 

As I drove away with tears in my eyes,

I heard the dogs crying.

They didn’t know what was going on,

Why they had been abandoned,

Or where their people were.

I could only pray that someone would pick them up and take them to be part of their pack.

I could only pray that they would have a happy ending.

 

I don’t understand how people can do it.

I don’t understand how someone can abandon a pet and go home and live with themselves.

I suppose it could be food insecurity.

I suppose there could be health issues.

I suppose there could be a crisis and they feel like they can’t take care of anything else.

But to just abandon the animal.

To just leave it behind.

To just throw it out the car door so callously.

I can’t fathom it.

Surrendering an animal is hard.

But throwing it away?

I will never understand.

 

God calls us to be good stewards of our time, resources, and the animals of the Earth.

God is not in abandoning animals on the side of the road or at a gas station. 

 

I am sad. 

I am mad. 

And I am more thankful than ever that when 

Annie Mae was abandoned with her babies and 

Siggy Ray was abandoned with two broken legs,

They both made their way to my house so that we could give them good lives. 

 

God, forgive humanity

For screwing so much up. 

And thank you for those who are fighting to fix what’s been broken. 

 

Amen. 

Bullet's Love

 

Today’s Throwback Thursday note is another memory of Bullet, this one from early June 2016. I love Annie Mae and Siggy Ray. But I sure do miss this little guy. 

 

—-

 

Bullet is snoring beside me.

I tried to take him home about 30 minutes ago.

9pm is his curfew.

Instead, he walked me down the driveway, pooped in the middle of the concrete, then turned around and marched straight to the door and waited for me to catch up.

Until that moment, he had been sleeping in the garage.

He was pitifully and poutingly waiting on my dad to come home.

My dad won’t be home for another couple of days.

I am second best. I know it.

And sitting beside this little, fat, white creature who stinks of wet, shedding hair and farts, makes me itch.

I am allergic to him.

Yet I love him.

And I choose to spend time with him.

And I feel grateful that there are people and a God who love and choose to spend time with me when I am at my worst…or my best…or my most natural…and don’t think twice about it when I make them twitch.

"Cat"

 

My dad is convinced that he speaks, “cat.”

He says that he understands what the cats want

And that the cats tell him what they need.

In all actuality, the cats simply want food and

Know that he’ll give it to them.

As a result, he hasn’t trained them,

Rather they have trained him,

And they keep him up at all hours of the night,

Demanding to go in or go out,

Begging for dry food or turkey.

 

I tell him to ignore their demands,

But he swears that they will just swat at him and get mad.

He said that Annie Mae got mad on Sunday morning,

Hit the chair,

And then stomped off for hour.

She may have,

But she was better by Sunday afternoon,

When she told me

(Yes, I speak, “cat,” too)

That she wanted to take a nap.

I obliged,

And she did what she always does

When she’s being affectionate:

Hopped onto her spot,

Made biscuits,

Turned around,

And laid down right next to my leg.

 

Annie Mae is not an overly affectionate cat.

But when she wants pets,

She lets us know.

And when she wants to nap,

She curls up beside me,

Always touching some part of my body,

But never laying on me outright,

Because that would be too much love.

 

In so many ways, people are like cats.

We tend to be the center of our own universe.

We communicate what we want both passively and aggressively and

We hope that someone listens.

We’re opinionated and prickly at times,

But even then,

We want someone with whom

We can be ourselves,

Rest, and

And feel safe, warm, and secure.

 

I hope that each of us can know and experience

Even a fraction of the love and

Life of comfort that

Annie Mae has come to live.

From thrown away teenage mother to

Queen of the House,

She is teaching me about

Adoption, redemption, and love…

All in her language of “cat.”

Cats

 My cats are weird.

(I think all cats might be weird.)

And they have such different personalities.

 

Annie Mae is spicy and aloof.

Sigma Ray is docile and loving.

 

Annie Mae will only eat turkey directly from my hand.

Sigma Ray will only eat turkey off the floor.

 

Annie Mae will only drink water from her personalized water bowl upstairs.

Sigma Ray will drink water from anywhere, including my dad’s cups.

 

Annie Mae will only eat cat food if it’s been freshly poured into her bowl.

Sigma Ray will eat cat food anytime it’s available.

 

Annie Mae refuses to let you touch her pretty, fluffy belly.

Sigma Ray doesn’t care if you touch his belly, his nose, or his tail.

 

Annie Mae stirs if you come upon her sleeping.

Sigma Ray sleeps hard and long and just keeps right on sleeping if you come upon him.

 

Annie Mae likes boxes.

Sigma Ray doesn’t know what to do with them.

 

Annie Mae likes to hunt.

Sigma Ray is a lover, not a fighter.

 

Annie Mae is calm and content with the ground.

Sigma Ray is spastic and curious and climbs all over everything.

 

Annie Mae knows her name.

Sigma Ray does not.

 

Annie Mae will sometimes respond when I say “comeeer, baby.”

Sigma Ray just looks at me like I have a hole in my head.

 

Annie Mae is a secret purrer.

Sigma Ray purrs very loudly and makes no secret about when he’s happy. 

 

Annie Mae has sort of figured out my schedule.

Sigma Ray has not.

 

Every day, when I come home from work,

Annie expects me to come upstairs

So she can sit beside me

While I do my blackout poem.

If I don’t immediately do this,

Then it throws her off, and

She acts out of sorts until I do.

I think this is funny.

But it warms my heart.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

My cats are weird.

And I bet yours are too.

Or your dogs.

Or your bearded dragons.

Or your hamsters or ferrets or snakes or cows or any other pets that you have.

 

Pets are some of life’s greatest blessings.

Amen?

And amen.