She was an orphan. Becky found her outside the business school at Baylor seventeen years ago, the rest of her family trapped by campus maintenance men and taken away. Becky named her Josephine and got her a life partner named Dartanian from the pound.
Josephine refused to lick herself clean and was soon too rotund to reach her filthiest parts anyway. So the chore fell to Dartanian, who would put it off until her back hair began to dreadlock and her dandruff was visible from across the room. Then he’d ambush her, bowl her over, pin her down with his forearms and give her a bath.
She was the Courtney Love of cats. Promiscuous until fixed. Perpetually disheveled. If we could have rolled up the fur on her legs we would have no doubt uncovered an array of bruises and track marks. I’m pretty sure she was a user.
When Dartanian passed a few years ago, we quickly realized how essential he’d been to Josephine’s hygiene and mental health. The widowed Josephine laid around more than ever – which I truly did not believe was even possible. And within a week’s time she began twitching her skin all over in a naive attempt to scratch the constant itch of filth.
With a brush I could keep her clean(ish) but there wasn’t much we could do about the lonely. She ate a lot.
Last week, as I was packing to head out of town for the weekend, a neighbor kid rang the doorbell. “Your cat’s dead.”
There, in the shade of a hackberry tree, Josephine lay sprawled out, eternally relaxed.
I abandoned my suitcase and grabbed a shovel. India and Ivey, eight year-olds from the cul-de-sac, offered their condolences as I worked. Boys from across the street grabbed sticks and dared one another to touch her. Becky swaddled Josephine in a rug and held her safely out of reach.
“It’s just nature’s course,” Ivey said.
The service was small and simple. We stood around her body, wrapped in rug, laid to rest in a small hole in the back yard beside Dartanian. We each remembered something we liked about her. No mention of rancorous smells or dingleberries or dandruff. Just playful kitten years, purring, good morning greetings meowed as we passed her on the way to the van.
Then I prayed, thanking God for Becky’s compassionate rescue, for Josephine’s long life, for a painless end to it, for letting us be her family. Amen.
A future hall of fame safety held his mother around the waist and wept. The girls lowered their heads and wiped their cheeks. And I explained to the perplexed five year-old that Josephine was our friend and it’s OK to cry when we say goodbye to friends. “Josephine in heaven with Jesus eating,” he said to comfort or argue against the sadness.
“I want to go there,” he said. “I want to eat with Jesus.”
“Not today,” I said.
“You always say that.”
Jason says:
Sorry for your loss, Shaun. ๐
brad says:
“I want to go there,” he said. “I want to eat with Jesus.” The longing for heaven and reunion is precious. I’m with him.
Cathy says:
She looks just like my Lucky, who was also a rescue. I lost her in my divorce four years ago but lost her for good a couple of months ago when she died.
And for the desire to be in heaven, well I understand that too. Not because my cat is there eating with Jesus, but because my son is. It was the most overwhelming feeling ever until 2 1/2 years ago God gave me another son to care for. Now I long for heaven, but not today.
Amanda Jones says:
I was about to cry and then I was laughing out loud all by myself at the end. You’re such a good story teller. When I die someday, I definitely want my people to take comfort knowing that I’m in heaven eating with Jesus. Love it. I really am sorry for your loss. I had to put my 17 year old cat to sleep and it was so, so painful.
Wendy says:
Sorry about your cat, but love this post.
Kelli says:
You made me get all weepy. And I don’t even like cats! Thanks for sharing Josephine with us. ๐
Sharon O says:
I appreciate your ‘saddness’ I am a cat person. She looked like a cast away who didn’t know what to do when saved.
Jenn says:
I am sorry about your cat. We too had a Josephine, Kitty Pants was her name. She was a loner from day one, and so very obese. She did not have a companion cat to care for her, so the task fell to me. Have you ever tried to bathe a 23-pound cat?
shayne says:
I wanna go there too, Sambhaji.
Melinda Lancaster says:
You certainly have a gift for weaving a story about a fat, dirty cat into something beautiful. But, then again, furry friends become family. Hairballs and all we love them, and sometimes they seem to love us with less reserve than people.
I am sorry for your loss. That’s never a good way to start a day or trip.
We (it look three of us) recently had to put my Mom’s 16 year old cat to sleep. He was more like a dog. Followed her everywhere. Was her greatest companion since my Dad passed away.
That is actually the main thing that caused us to visit the church. My Mom has been grieving hard and we couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone in church on Easter.
We’ve gotten her a new furry friend. I say we because it takes three people to keep up with a one pound kitten. But my Mom is beginning to smile again.
And even as I write this comment, the words of your son flash in my mind. I’ve has similiar thoughts myself. This world is not our home. I for one am thankful.
Appreciate you sharing this.
Christine says:
I am sorry, Shaun, for you and Becky and the kids. You really do weave a beautiful tale.
Sillydoodah (Dawn) says:
๐ Sorry for your loss. I love your son’s comments. So sweet and funny. Great post.
Mathew says:
Enjoyed reading couple of your posts. Love the transparency you have in your writing! I wish I can write like that. God bless all your work! More grace to u and ur family!