I have tried to adopt the
attitude that death is part of life… When our animal companions leave us—always too soon—their spirits
are being released to go on to the next adventure the Creator has in mind for
them. I want to believe the same about
the eventual end of my own life, and those of the other human people I
love. I feel as if mourning and sadness
over death shouldn’t be given the preponderance of attention our society
bestows upon them. We have forgotten that
death is part of life. We are born. We die.
We go…where? I don’t know,
exactly, but I feel sure it is somewhere.
That the energy of the spirit is eternal and returns to this earthly
plain…or perhaps the plain of another earth…as many times as the Creator bids it.
Still…
My sadness at the loss of my
beloved Mo-Mo keeps…hanging on.
And I think I have a glimmer
of understanding of why.
As I was collecting my series
of old posts to meld into Mo’s story just after he died, I was struck as never
before how hard he worked to be with
us. How insistent he was that he should
be a member of our family. How patient
and persistent he was…for over two years.
Until we finally made the connection and brought him “home.”
And I realized…we have had
one other feline spirit who was equally insistent he should live with
us. That was our Spritie—our Hairy
Butt. He originally “belonged” to
our across-the-street neighbors. But the
minute he was old enough to be out the door of that house across the street, he
was at our house. All the time. In our yard.
On the front porch. From the time
he was a small kitten. We would pick him
up, trek across the street with him, drop him on the other side of “his” fence,
and by the time we could cross the street and walk up our sidewalk, he’d be
sitting on our front porch. Waiting. He wanted US.
There was no way he was going to take “no” for an answer. As hard as we tried to give him “back” to the
neighbors, he tried harder to be with us.
Finally, on Christmas Day of
1991, as we sat in our living room enjoying music and drinks, Spritie came over
and literally threw himself against the front window. Multiple times.
“Let me in. I belong HERE.”
We brought him in. And that was that.
Spritie lived with us in four
different homes. He indoctrinated a
succession of younger felines…shared laps and beds and couches with a multitude
of other cats over the sixteen years he was with us. He was the head of the clan…the good-natured
ruler of the roost. But he was always
more than “just” a cat (if there is such a thing.) He was one of the peeps. He looked you in the eye when he talked to
you, for all the world as if he was a tiny human in a four-legged fur suit.
Our Hairy Butt walked on in
January of 2007. Seven months into our nightmarish term of indenture to that infernal restaurant. I always felt that all he ever wanted was to be with us, and the restaurant took us away from home, from HIM, for more hours than his spirit could bear. So he left us.
We were heartbroken. More so than we had been, guiltily, over the
loss of any of our other animal companions to date.
Eight months later, Mo-mo
arrived in our back yard. And his journey into our house and hearts began.
I have said I don’t
believe in that “rainbow bridge” stuff. I don’t believe there are spirits eternally assigned to
be the “pets” of human spirits. I do
believe there are spirits that are eternally connected, and who meet over
and over again on their journeys through the universe. And they don’t necessarily meet as “master”
and “pet.” That kind of relationship doesn’t
have the chops to be written into the eternal order of things.
That said…
I’ve come to believe it’s
possible Sprite and Mo might just be the same spirit. A spirit so connected to us—me or the
husband, or both of us—that it is bound to return to us in some form as long as
we all exist. Our lives just won’t
be…right…whenever that spirit is not with us. We're desperate for the sweetness, the love, the devotion, that steadfast declaration of “I
belong with YOU!”
When that spirit isn’t with
us, we’re a little lost…a little empty…a little incomplete.
I’ve started leaving a dish
of food out on the shed deck…a morsel to fuel the hearts of the many cats who
wander through my yard. I’ve taken to
calling it “The Mo Memorial Food Dish.”
In his memory, yes. But also, as an offering.
To that sweet spirit that we
are now without.
Sometimes, I breathe a little
prayer when I drop a handful of food into the dish.
“Come back to us, Mo-mo
(Spritie.). We miss you.”
I hope he hears.
