Winky will have to wait...
Over the weekend my 17-year-old grey tabby, Jasmine, died of kidney failure. She was the first pet that was all my own. I got her in my sophomore year of college.
She had insinuated herself into my life in so many ways. I didn’t realize that I scan the rooms as I enter the house to see where the cats are sleeping-- until she was missing. I also catch myself putting my cereal bowl on the floor for her to finish.
She had become hard to love with her various ailments and her insistent cries for attention-- for recognition. Jasmine would never let my husband or children forget that she was the first love of my life. She cherished that distinction.
Jazzie loved to sleep on top of me, regardless of what position I was in. In the wee hours of the morning, when she couldn’t sleep, she would try to engage me in conversation; I rewarded her adamant tête-à-têtes with the other side of the door.
My mother-in-law, Adria, surprised us with a baby-sitting visit; unfortunately, it was the same day Jasmine’s back legs stopped working. We stayed in and I held Jasmine for the last night of her life. The next morning, Saturday, Will had a ball game. He spent some time with the kitty before leaving and kept asking if she would get better. Travis and Adria took Will to the game and I took Jasmine to the veterinarian. The vet cried with me as she gave her the shot to ease her pain.
I had an hour or so to sob unabashedly until I had to break it to my seven-year-old son. Somehow, having to darn his tender feelings brought me out of myself and my self-pity. On Sunday we had a viewing and a lovely memorial. The baby and the other cat attended. The neighbor took his dog into the house out of respect. We gave her flowers and each put a shovelful of dirt on her grave.
For a marker, Will painted a river rock with Jasmine’s portrait and I inscribed her birth and death dates on the back. My husband dug the hole and did the heavy lifting (the river rock and Will and my spirits).
My one-year-old girl crawls around saying “Owwww, Owwww” parroting Jazzie’s voice. Alas, she won’t remember the cat who taught her to meow.
2 Comments:
This was tough to read because Jasmine has been with Leepie seemingly forever - and she was such a great cat, plus I recently got to visit with the Davenport family and am feeling like an empty-nester now that they are gone.
Lisa, I love that you had a ceremony - I am glad that Jazzie just didn't 'run away' like the majority of my pets did when I was Will's age.
Even prior to being a good mother, you were always a good kitty-mama - and ol' High-Pockets loved being your companion.
I am sorry to hear about your loss. The last I remember of Jasmine was her licking all her fur off, and the idiot vet telling you, "Oh, she's just a groomer..." Glad she had a long life, and I'm sure it was a happy one.
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