I regularly write about my personal experience of the losses of my own cats on my website The Creative Cat. That includes Mr. Sunshine who once stood on this fence and sniffed this flower pinwheel on a day he was feeling great, a few months before he died on March 1, 2024.
This post is an entry in my series “Attachments” on www.TheCreativeCat.net about the things with which we develop attachments because they have something, however distantly connected, with the life and loss of one of our animal companions.
I first published this post on The Creative Cat on October 12, 2025.
Last Wednesday morning I looked once again at the increasingly tattered state of “Mr. Sunshine’s flower,” the flower pinwheel on the picket fence by the garden that I associate with him. A sweet breezy morning would normally have the flower spinning madly, instead it had a number of false starts before it actually began to spin. Still, the flower brought back the memory of that magic October afternoon in 2023 when Mimi had hopped up on the fence in the sun, then Mr. Sunshine and Giuseppe followed. I took a series of photos and brief videos, but one of the photos was immediately a forever memory, its brilliance still held in this ragged nylon and wire pinwheel flower, the memory always warming my heart and making me smile. You can see the cat in the middle, Mr. Sunshine, blissfully sniffing the flower pinwheel. He was so cool.
Mimi, Mr. Sunshine and Giuseppe on the pallet and fence on a gorgeous October afternoon.
And a respite in the line of losses; we had already lost their siblings/daughter Mewsette and Jelly Bean in June and July, and this was shortly before the symptoms of Giuseppe’s meningioma started neurological symptoms and we’d lose him a little less than two months later, Mr. Sunshine would join them the following March, and their mother Mimi the following August. But this one perfect October afternoon all were well and happy, playing in the sun, exploring in the shade, enjoying their time out here.
The flower had survived since 2022, outside the entire time, but on this day a twinge of sadness mingled with the joy knowing the flower wouldn’t last much longer before all the petals were tattered and it stood, still, in its place on the fence. The word “metaphor” came to mind followed slowly by “memories” as I thought about all the times I’d looked at that flower, checked to see it was still there, stopped to watch it spinning, feeling Mr. Sunshine’s presence and visualizing him in image after image, but always knowing it wouldn’t last forever, and how the flower’s decline in many ways was a metaphor for his.
This essay began writing itself in my head and even as I began to open the notes app on my phone to use voice to text to record my thoughts as I often do now I was headed into the house and just went right to my computer and began writing. When it was finished I decided to record it and make an accompanying video and title the whole project, “Metaphors and Memories” which is linked immediately below, and the essay itself below the video. It’s been a while since I’ve had the time, the focus and presence of mind to be able to produce one of these little videos, but I knew it was just as important for my own healing that I take the time for that creative effort. I hope that in any way it’s helpful to you too.
Metaphors and Memories
The essay
This breezy, sunny, post-rain morning in the garden I noticed that Mr. Sunshine’s pinwheel flower was having a little trouble starting to spin.
For nearly two years since that wonderful photo of him and Mimi and Giuseppe on the fence where he is coolly sniffing the flower in the sun and color of October, that flower, tied to the fence post where it can always be seen and catch the breeze, has been spinning at the slightest provocation, and I feel Mr. Sunshine near me. It has always had a little regular squeak when it spins and when I was indoors at my desk, even at night with the windows open, I could hear that squeak and smiled to think of Mr. Sunshine out there, doing his thing. The flower had become one of my “attachments,” those inanimate objects I come to associate with cats I’ve lost so that the things become precious to me as a stand-in for the feline I’m missing.
But as with all things in my garden and in life, someday the flower will slow down, falter, and then, eventually, stop, just as Mr. Sunshine did after two years of holding off the cancerous masses in his abdomen so he could support each of his siblings in their last steps and get every last moment due to him in this life.
This once-colorful flower now has a fourth tattered petal which is probably why it doesn’t catch the breeze as well as it has, even recently. In September 2024, about six months after he’d left us, one of the petals was ripped through and it wouldn’t spin for missing that resistance to the breeze. I had a second flower that had gotten pretty tattered in its first summer and winter so I put it into one of my planters where it could be colorful even if it didn’t spin. I pulled one of the petals from that flower to replace the damaged one on Mr. Sunshine’s flower.
For a few days after a windy, icy storm in January 2025 it was lost under ice and snow, only the plastic stake that held it left tied to the fence; I was bereft and a little panicked. But I saw a scrap of color when the snow began to melt a few days later and revived it, slipping it back on the stick and replacing yet another petal.
By early spring I regularly found the flower on the brick path between the garden beds at an angle that told me it was blown off and landed face down. When I slipped it back on I could see that the center of the flower that gripped the spike it spun on had worn out and no longer tightly gripped it. I slipped a bit of a broken plastic knife I used as a plant marker into the tip of the post that it spun on and that has held it in place through storms and bird landings since then.
But four petals have tears in them, and I have no more petals to replace the one that no longer catches the breeze. I no longer hear that endearing little squeak. I know the time will come when the flower will cease to be able to perform its task of colorful entertainment in the garden and memory for me. But my intention with everything that goes into my garden is to love and support it while it lives out its natural life. Life is a cycle, the vegetables I plant, the bricks I pick up free from others who no longer need them, even the wood of the raised beds and plant stakes, untreated, it eventually breaks down and becomes part of the soil.
The metaphor matches Mr. Sunshine’s journey, and mine with him. He put everything into continuing life, and I found working treatments as palliative care, both of us working together, until life was no longer sustainable and he joined his siblings in their next life.
As with Mr. Sunshine, I will no more keep that flower beyond its abilities nor hasten its demise than I did with Mr. Sunshine. Knowing me and my attachments, when too many of the petals are ripped and the flower no longer spins at all, I will move it to a safe space to hold as a vessel for memory until such time as I no longer feel that connection with Mr. Sunshine through the flower.
And a note from “The Creative Cat” where I originally published this essay, and where I write about pet loss just about every Sunday…
Thank you for following our grief journey after losing seven members of our feline family.
I hope sharing our experiences have helped you in some way, as sharing my experiences with you helps me.
You can read all the articles related to their losses by tapping one of the images here, in the side bar or in articles about pet loww. You can also read all my articles about my own losses in the category “Pet Loss in the First Person”
All images and content are copyrighted and may not be used or reproduced in any way without my written permission. Please contact me if you are interested in using any of my content.
Working with your supplied photo or artwork, I use my decades of pet portraiture on paper and canvas and my Photoshop skills to prepare the image to fit the votive. I remove background distractions and correct distortions if necessary, and add a color or gentle pattern that suits your pet, pulling ideas from the supplied photos.
Sometimes a custom background is part of the design, either the background in the provided photo, another scenic background, or a pattern. Pearl loved sleeping on the patterned porch chair and it was in the photo I used, enough of it to be able to trim sections out of the provided photo and blend the sections together in a continuous pattern. I placed Pearl on top of the pattern with the section of it that was under her face included with her. Below are views of each side and the back.
And here is what the votive looks like when the candle is lit.
Pearl’s votive lighted front.
Pearl’s votive lighted back.
Customizations cost $10.00 extra for a specific background, another subject, or text, like a name and dates, or a tribute incorporated into the design. You’ll find these listed as “Extra Services” in the drop-downs when you order, but you can check with me before you order if you have questions.
The sample votive you see here was ordered by one friend to give to another, and both parties gave me permission to share the images. I never use any image of a custom item without permission.
I regularly write about my personal experience of the losses of my own cats on my website The Creative Cat. That includes Basil with the big round eyes and the scary vegetables behind him who I lost in December 2024. I publish daily photos there just about every day and in each post include photos from that day in previous years, sometimes all the way back to 2009, when I started The Creative Cat.
This essay is about the experience of scrolling through months and years and decades of photos of my family of felines in one of those posts, always an emotional experience but, “Now, as I scroll down any daily photo post, I hear the echoes of the lives we lived, the literal sounds and also the movements, the interactions and emotions, and I’m grateful and joyful that they all shared my life. The photos come to life and move with the memories…”
I’m making some marinara today, and all alone in the kitchen. A couple of years ago I was never alone! Basil was always a kitchen cat, and even after we lost the siblings and then Mimi, he was still there, probably feeling as alone as I was after the usual kitchen full of all the cats we loved. He would sit on the cabinet or the table with those big eyes, always a little bit of doubt in his expression, as if he might not belong, or I might not love him and pay attention to him.
On the contrary, he got it all. We had some wonderful bonding moments then, lots of affection and kisses. I was grateful each time for the distraction from my own thoughts. And each time, I gave Basil lots of praise for overcoming his doubts and asking for what he wanted. He was so brave. Whatever had planted that doubt in him, each time it came up it was a struggle that I could even see happening, but every time he overcame it. I will always be so grateful for deciding, instead of wanting to leave my bathroom open after steadily fostering in there because it was easier for me in my studio, to instead say I’d take the 14-week-old kitten on the shelter kill list for “bad temperament,” in 2014. Not just for saving his life, but so that we could end up sharing a life. I know Basil loved and trusted me, as I did him, and the thought of his trust, trust in me, still makes my heart swell with love.
I’ve been missing him a lot. Not just because he was my most recent loss. I could almost understand each of the siblings’ passings, and I had actually been grieving Mimi in advance for a few years. Basil walked the line between friendly and feral, between Mimi and the siblings’ overwhelmingly social purrsonalities and the more cautious Bella, Hamlet, Mariposa and even Sienna. He was the last of the cats who moved around the house with me, who was always ready for love, and I knew, and he knew, that our future had him moving to the lead position in our feline family, and he was already learning to put his fears aside and actually be the greeting cat of the household.
And then he was ill, and then he was gone. Neither of us was ready. I had dropped everything in October, garden, house, working on my websites, even cooking some days, and spent all my time with him in those last two months. But not even that would ever be enough.
The kitchen is where I still find him now, I feel him sitting on the cabinet behind me, waiting for a taste of whatever, or on the table, waiting for pets. I don’t look to see he’s not there in body. Even though sometimes it makes me profoundly sad, I picture him as he would be in that moment, in the now, if he was here in more than spirit.
My websites were offline during the entire time he was experiencing his illness, and I almost feel as if I was silenced by some malevolent spirit because here is where I’ve always brought my grief in my feline losses. Sharing on social networks was not the same. But some time this year, possibly autumn, to track and follow the course of his illness in a series of posts, I’ll share his story.
About this photo
Those scary fruits and vegetables!
This photo is so Basil it just wipes away all my tears. When I took the photo I had no idea how our future would turn, but in this moment I was planning on loving Basil in life for the next decade, or more. I will go with that plan, and enjoy all the silly photos of him, some of which I took while he was pretty seriously ill.
Here’s what I said about it last year:
Basil is a little fearful, and just lately the presence of fruits and vegetables behind him seemingly no matter where he goes has really been making him uneasy. Where did they come from all of a sudden? And why? And why can’t he get away from them? What might be their ulterior motive?
Basil is clearly overthinking this. Really, he’s just been sleeping on the table each day and that’s a new habit. The fruits and vegetables, though not always the same ones, are there all the time. But there is no convincing Basil, only constantly reassuring him with pets and kisses.
Sometimes I think he’s manipulating me. Purrhaps Mariposa has taught him a few new things.
And photos from previous years too
Now, as I scroll down any daily photo post, I hear the echoes of the lives we lived, the literal sounds and also the movements, the interactions and emotions, and I’m grateful and joyful that they all shared my life. The photos come to life and move with the memories. To see the five of them together, growing younger as I scroll down, Basil becomes a kitten again! Birds yelling at Mewsette, Jelly Bean in a box, Mimi in the rhododendron in 32 different views, Mary petting all four of them at once, Mariposa climbing the screen door, cantaloupe?! Giuseppe talking, Sunshine in a bag in a bag, wow, so much to remember and love. Share that with me.
Below, lots of happy memories from previous years! Look at those five just below!
From around this date in past years
All Lined Up, 2022
All lined up and waiting for lunch.
It’s been a while since this wonderful family lined up for a meal. This was once a daily occurrence and I’m thrilled to see them do it again today! Wish I’d had my better camera, but this will do.
I let each cat, fosters and all, choose where in the kitchen they want to eat. When these were all younger, after we lost our tortie girls in 2012 and before so many fosters came along, they lined up just like this daily.
Now each of them gets a mid-day meal and a chance at the food puzzle, but they don’t always eat at the same time. I’ll have to try to remember the magic from today.
Mimi chose some genetically advantaged boy cats to create this group. That was before her time with me. Can you see similarities between her facial features and each of her “kittens’ ” features?
Below: lunchtime!!
Lunchtime for all!
~~~
From Instagram
Hearing the word CAT!! in every bird language from all the trees around the backyard as Mewsette quietly strolls on a sunny Saturday morning having no idea of her impact.
Outdoor Studio. Girls are inspecting my set up as I make a few more Scratch Your Claws Here cat mats for the Carnegie spring market tomorrow afternoon! They’ll have to settle down before I get out the paint. Hope these things are dry by tomorrow!
This week’s #boxpawty — Jelly Bean tries to fit himself into the (recycled) box I’m getting ready to ship with a customer’s order, he decided he wanted to go and visit his housepanther cousins from New Jersey, and have a vacation on Cape May! Now that takes paw-lanning!
From around this date in past years
Pretty in Pink, 2021
Mimi makes the scene.
Mimi liked the rhododendron so much this year that she willingly posed around it, unlike last year when I couldn’t get her to get near it when I had my camera—in fact, you can even see last year’s non-event below. She even had a little routine of posing and interacting with the blossoms. Above, she gazes tranquilly at the flowers. Below, she gets a good whiff of them!
She gets a good whiff of the blossoms.
The bush was especially lovely this year, with even more blossoms than last year. I did a little judicious trimming, and this is the third year since the maple trees are gone, and Rhody is feeling good. Mimi chooses one more pose with the rhododendron and forget-me-not flowers.
A classic pose with rhododendrons and forget-me-nots.
I took these at the end of May when I was about to move the cats to the farm, so I didn’t have the chance to share them before now—along with a number of other photos! But Mimi deserves her due for the inspiring photo shoot we had. When she’s done, she marks it in particular cat style, with a thorough and extended face rub on the edge of the porch.
She marks the spot with a thorough, extended face rub.
I think Mimi had a good idea for waiting, though, because the fallen blossoms added to the beauty of the scene. I don’t remember the fallen blossoms making that much of a show in the past, but Mimi made the most of them all around her tiny paws. When it was all done, she settled down on the edge of the porch with the angry rabbit to gaze upon her little paradise.
Then she rests to survey her paradise.
~~~
From Instagram
It’s a hot one out there! Keep yourself and your kitties cool, put a few ice cubes in everyone’s water, and find a nice geranium to provide some shade.
The #housepanther receiving line for guests to our house. Aunt Mary stopped by today, a favorite because she brings some of their favorite food. They know her as soon as she walks in the door.
From around this date in past years
Through the Magic Rhododendron Portal, 2020
One of the things I love about living with cats is watching them explore new things in their environment in minute detail, then find a way to occupy it and own it, whether it’s a box, cat tree, new piece of furniture, or a small section of the yard, especially for Mimi. Once my niece and I removed the ivy that was covering the entire front yard last year (well, she did all that!), we spread plastic and wood chips from the trees I’d had cut down and my original rock garden with a few short stone walls in a couple of places was visible again. I remembered building all that the spring after I’d moved in here and was happy to see the structure I’d set up once again ready for growing things. And for felines!
Mimi was ready to explore. Another wall to use as a catwalk! And curl up for naps on sun-warmed stones, even in May. These photos were taken on May 10 and 13 as Mimi acquainted herself with the wall and walked beneath the portal (rhododendron) to the “other side”.
That was a totally cool experience. And that rock she’s standing on? It’s so nice and warm under her paws…it was in the sun all afternoon…so of course it was the purrfect spot for a little feline enjoyment. First to mark the stones as belonging to Mimi.
And then a little bath…
…and then a nap with lots of toe stretching and head turning upside down.
We’ve revisited the wall regularly since then, and I’ve tried so hard, alas, in vain, to get a good photo of Mimi exiting the portal on the wall. But these minute little happinesses are so important to cats. I know they are part of what makes Mimi content each day and ensures her continued physical and behavioral health. And mine too, as I follow her around with my camera searching for the best way to interpret her pose. I can’t be as free when we’re out in the front yard because I need to keep a close eye on her and on our surroundings, but it’s worth missing a photo now and then to ensure her safety.
I’ve been enjoying my Mimi Monday posts and sharing all these photos of her I take outdoors. Let me know what you think!
~~~
Yes, I’ve been MIA for over a week, even for those of you who follow me on Instagram and other social media! Several things came together at once and needed my time before the end of June. I wanted to relieve the strain on my eyes until my new glasses are ready (July 1!) and stay away from posting long enough to get the other projects done and get back to posting regularly. I’d actually intended to share that I’d be “away” for a few days but even ran out of time for that. I always miss posting, and I’m always glad when I can come back to The Creative Cat.
~~~
From Instagram, last week to Monday
June 20
Boys are trying to like cantaloupe, because that’s what I’m eating. I’m trying to get to know my new cellphone, because my old old one could not update past android 5 and had to be replaced. What better way than to photograph my cats? It’s a win-win. The cantaloupe was a no-go, though.
Really? You eat this stuff?
My new phone fits a lot more apps too. Camera is good, but nothing is like my DSLR. Still going to be fun.
Mariposa is feeling this purrfect summer morning.
June 22
The Four Housecats of the Apocalypse are planning my day because they are coming to work with me today. Wait, how is that any different…
June 24
Yeah, my hair’s doing something pretty fantastic this morning, isn’t it?
Whisker Wednesday at the window. Mariposa just generally has a lot of hair, something we have in common on humid mornings.
Mr. Sunshine is having a great morning. He’s in a bag, in a bag!
Don’t worry, one side of each handle is pulled loose.
June 29
I’m sorry I opened the refrigerator door overnight.
I still get my breakfast though, right?
From around this date in past years
Now That’s a Nap, 2019
Basil’s good nap.
That little row of teeny teeth and then the FANGS. Basil is a purrfessional at napping in interesting positions. He always starts out in pretty normal positions, then at some point he lets it all hang out.
From Instagram
It’s the pre-breakfast wrestling match to enhance the appetite. It’s how they work off their excitement while I prepare 10 bowls of food. Mariposa wriggles across the floor on her back under Jelly Bean’s face and boxes his nose with those big white mittens until he engages. If she doesn’t, he starts vigorously licking her face and before long they are wrestling all over the floor. Kitty communication is a very interesting process!
A year ago I had trapped Mariposa as an adult along with a colony of feral cats at an abandoned house and she began her journey to socialization. All other adults went to a friend’s farm. Mariposa was clearly related but somehow let me know she wasn’t like them. She is very pleased to be a socialized cat with her own house and a human she can manipulate and a family of felines who love her despite her odd coloring 😉.
Bean and Mariposa in the morning.
Photos shared in past years
Some Good Naps, 2018
Hamlet having a really good nap.
This black object is completely identifiable as Hamlet, enjoying this purrfect afternoon.
I actually got an inexpensive smartphone with inexpensive service to have for my travels over the past week, as well as just to use as a cell phone. I’m trying out the camera along with the service, and napping kitties are a purrfect subject. Not sure the camera really cuts it, though. But I had fun with it nonetheless.
Looks like there’s a UBO on my bed. They show up on rainy mornings like this. If you look closely you might see toe beans. (UBO = Unidentified Black Object) That would have to be Bella.
A UBO on my bed.
~~~
Photos posted on or around this date in previous years
.
Wordless Wednesday: Saturated Nap
Giuseppe is enjoying a nap saturated with color and comfort.
~~~
Basket Nap With Video
Basket Nap, Scene 1
The yellow basket continues to be a favorite napping spot, and Giuseppe and Bean have been favorite napping partners since they were kittens.
Basket Nap, Scene 2
Giuseppe kind of acts like the pillow while Bean likes to sleep in a ball, so he tucks himself into Giuseppe’s belly.
Basket Nap, Scene 3
The yawn starts another segment of the nap.
Basket Nap, Scene 4
I recorded just a short portion of the nap, doing my best to get the purrrrrr, so you might need to turn up your speakers.
~~~
Photos posted on or around this date in previous years
.
Blue Pitcher With Black Cat, 2013
Blue Pitcher
Don’t be silly, human. Who would be interested in a photo of a dumb blue pitcher?
I think this is much better.
Blue Pitcher With Cat
I have to say, I do like it, Mr. Sunshine, subtle, almost abstract. I have some talented cats here.
I also had way more photos of the blue pitcher with black cats in them than without.
This was the final photo I chose, without cats—just for jollies, even though no one would really want to see a photo of a dumb blue pitcher without any cats in it. I had my DSLR in my right hand and my left arm around Mr. Sunshine, Giuseppe and Mewsette on the cabinet, holding them against me as they struggled, and waving my right foot at Mimi and Bean on the floor to decoy them from jumping up. So I was standing on my left foot and doing the hokey pokey, and I don’t know why the photo is as clear as it is, or how I got the angle I wanted showing a bit of the table above it…
Blue
And don’t forget, you too can have talented photo assistants and feline art directors in your home—and I can vouch for the creativity of black cats. During Adopt-a-Cat Month, you can easily find your next interior decorator or social critic!
I first published this post on The Creative Cat in 2025.
All images and content are copyrighted and may not be used or reproduced in any way without my written permission. Please contact me if you are interested in using any of my content.
Memorial card for Stanley.Memorial card for Stanley.
Help heal your grief at the loss of your precious companion with a creative card full of memories you can make and send to people who knew them: friends, family, veterinarians and others who may have provided services. Creating something is a calming and enriching activity, and reviewing images and remembering stories helps to bring you closer to a smile. Knowing the recipients will think of your animal companion and you helps to spread the grief a little thinner.
A few days before Stanley gave up his battle, I was trying to organize the kitchen sink, pushing around prescription bottles, small cans of cat food and jars of baby food, the bag of used needles from his sub-q fluid therapy, and there was the bag hanging from the ceiling, the line wrapped around the paper towel holder, and on the chair the beach towels I used to wrap him so he wouldn’t be able to get away from me, and the modified daily schedule to ensure that he ate and exercised and spent some time with the rest of the household. I guess he always knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him, and in the end isn’t that all any of us really need, the knowledge that there is at least one being in this world who cares unconditionally for our welfare and will do whatever they can for our happiness and security, simply out of love? When I was 25 years old and Stanley walked into my life did I know I could provide that for a cat? I don’t think so, but in the 21 years Stanley was with me I learned without even knowing there was a lesson.
. . . . . . .
This is from the card I created in Stanley’s memory, pictured above.
Years ago, before blogging, I designed a little printed piece for each of the cats I’d lost which included the most memorable photos and artwork and a tribute, printed them and mailed them out to friends and veterinarians. Designing and printing cards was a natural thing for me since I’ve been a graphic designer since the early 80s, but today it’s something just about anyone can do with an online service, or at home with simple software and a desktop printer, or cut vinyl, art paper and stamping.
The cards gathered my thoughts at that moment, sometimes begun a short time before they actually transitioned as I sat with them in those final days, and sometimes a week or so after if I needed a bit of time. I often found I’d discovered or rediscovered a bit of poetry or prose that was entirely appropriate for the times and shared it in my card along with my own words and images.
First inside fold of card.
It was an important part of my grieving, the writing, the design, turning my grief into creative energy and taking my time with each part. I wrote notes in each of the cards, reading the names and addresses and thinking of each person to whom I was sending the card and their relationship with the cat and with me, who was new on the list and how my life had changed during the years I’d shared with this cat. And not the least, I thought about how my life would be different without this cat to share it.
I had designed Stanley’s card to fold in on itself until it was a square, so that the reader could unfold it frame by frame and read and look at the art in sequence.
Second inside fold.
I still go through the rest of the process while gathering content for my blog posts, but of course there is no real design and I miss the finality of mailing and handling something tangible while thinking of the kitty in question. But I traded that for being able to reach more readers who have been following me on The Creative Cat, and that the story is accessible as long as I leave it there so I can continue sharing it. But recently I’ve gone back to cards and now I make cat-themed gift items with my art and creative equipment and include that inside the card.
What is important for me is, of course, for me to reach down into my creative self to find the ideas which in its own way washes away my current state of mind for a short while. The deep thought process begins to lead to acceptance, working my way through the guilt that arises sometimes with a difficult passing and questioning my judgment, or with a long illness and actually looking forward to being released from complicated care when my feline is released from suffering.
In Stanley’s case, he had peed all over everything through his life, and I would not miss that and should not miss that, but felt guilty for admitting it. In his last months his spine was degrading, in his last week it might be pinching his spinal cord so that he was losing the use of his hind legs until he could no longer manage his bowels. I had to express his bladder and bowels by putting him in the tub and squeezing, and with the tender state of his frail body I was frightened I would hurt him as I easily could have.
He was fully aware and social and loving, so the decision was not easy. A few days into that he looked up at me and I knew he was ready to finally let go. It was during that time that I wrote the narrative at the beginning of this post, organizing my thoughts while I organized my caretaking materials at the kitchen sink.
But the message, the written memorial, the time of focused contemplation, are all important to moving grief along at a pace that is right for each of us. And at the end of that process is not to be free from grief but shed the doubt and guilt and sadness and to turn your grief back into the love from which it was made.
Full inside.
. . . . . . .
Sweet Stanley, on one of his last mornings, enjoys the winter sun to warm him and perhaps remind him of younger days.
January 15, 2007 marks the day Stanley transitioned to his next existence after about 25 years in this mortal coil. I don’t always remember birthdays but I do remember the days my cats entered my life and left it; much led up to each event, and my life was changed forever with each one as well.
Stanley, though, for his longevity and for many other qualities, has a memorable leavetaking as much for his condition and care as for what his age and position in seniority represented. Not only was he very old, he was the last of the cats I’d rescued before I even moved into this house, and with him went all those memories of early rescues and working on the beginnings of my art career late into the night. A certain sense of my own youth had gone with him.
I haven’t written Stanley’s rescue story or much about him, partly because I’m working my way back from the cats who’ve been with me since I’ve been writing The Creative Cat. When you live with an evolving household of cats over a period of years, they arrive, stay for their time and sadly leave us too soon, but they are intertwined with our own lives and those of our other animal companions. Stanley was with me for 21 years, and that’s a lot of history to share. I’ve been reviewing photos for months, years really, and I’m constantly surprised at what I’ve forgotten. Some day soon, I’ll do him justice.
He was fully adult when his big green eyes first looked through my door one day and with all those tabby stripes, white whiskers and big white mittens and a white diamond between his eyes he asked to come in as if he’d been sent on an important errand, though it took him a couple of weeks and an ice storm to get his point across. Surely he was sent equipped with all the lessons he would deliver about feline diet and health, emotional needs, patience and understanding, and it took him all 21 years to teach me, and to resolve the issues he carried until he was thoroughly done with me and this world and ready to move on.
The veterinarian who examined him at his first urinary blockage guessed his age at between three and five, so we took the average and figured he was four. He was the most troubled cat I’ve ever known, suffering from constant urinary issues and acting out from the chronic pain, finding a reason to pee on just about everything and once biting me so badly and narrowly missing the artery in my right wrist that I spent hours in the emergency room being filled with antibiotics and pain killers. But he was sweet and silly and apologetic so I covered much of my house in sheets of plastic and learned to understand what he was telling me so that I could help him through whatever physical or emotional crisis caused him to act that way. He was diagnosed with chronic kidney failure at age 21 but survived four years of my treating him with fluid therapy, wrapping him in a towel and sitting on him to hold him long enough to give him a therapeutic dose, and supplements thanks to my veterinarian’s patient guidance.
I’m not one for shopping in grocery stores on a regular basis, but a few weeks after he passed I found myself in the grocery store near midnight and realized the last time I’d been there it was also later at night to buy a few jars of baby food for Stanley because he would not eat his canned food. Stanley had still been alive, and that had not been too long before then. Stanley’s death had been long in coming and expected, I had plenty of time to prepare and recovered fairly quickly afterward, but right in the baby food aisle I began to cry all over again. I have no idea what anyone thought who might have seen me.
Stanley was the last of the original clowder I moved in here with and the last of four senior cats who passed in the space of a year. Though the adult cats who still lived with me were also seniors, I also had Lucy, my kitten, the new life who had known those older cats. I could pause and rest from a lot of caretaking and a lot of loss.
. . . . . . .
Below is the poem I’d discovered just a few months prior to this time, which I placed on the back of the card.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
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