The Last Kindness ... Digging a grave for one we loved. My parents died quite a long time ago and, today, it was Pretty Girl's turn. M and I have been taking care of her for months ... long before M's surgery. Recently, she stopped eating and drinking and had dropped to something like half her weight. Years of climbing up on the counter and doing tight-rope walks by the sink were over. The past few days if I would sit with her on the floor, she'd edge up to my lap ... raspy breathing ... sounded like congestive heart failure ... the Vet had agreed a few months ago and we opted to work on the infection on her leg and the respiratory one with antibiotics and steroids. Worked for a couple of months ... then, she crashed. Half-blind, dizzy, listless and not eating or drinking, now, for two days.
Pretty Girl was a Southern Belle. Our middle child or his wife ( I can no longer recall) called one day some 15 years ago. "There's a pink-eyed pretty white cat being chased by dogs in our yard. We tried bringing her in and Yasha (their cat) vetoed all efforts. Y'wanna come and take a look?" Richmond, VA is about 250 miles from Philadelphia but who could turn down an offer to visit our second Grandchild (and only Grandson). There was little doubt that she was a cat. Somewhat stand-offish but interested. C-A-T. Driving home, we decided to call her Pretty Girl Freud and came to call her just Pretty Girl. We never knew how old she was ... but certainly a pre-Millenial. She was not particularly interested in Shayna Rosa the Wonder Dog or Munkacz the Cat ... and liked to be petted by her Peeps for no more than 10 or 15 seconds before her claws came out.
Still, Pretty was interested. She'd spend her days looking out windows and sunbathing. C-A-T! When we'd come home from being out, she'd toddle down the stairs and show off her bounteous beauty. That was about it. Then, about ten years in, Pretty Girl got friendly. We never knew what had changed ... some sort of Feline Epiphany on the Value of Relationship. Our oldest Grandchild, S, came over this morning with her Mom, our third child, to say good-bye before the Vet came over to bring peace to the Old Lady. S and Pretty had a special relationship, as did our neighbor who would visit when we were away. I had been outside digging the grave, when S with her gentle touch for animals from Cats to Cows arrived. M and I were both lost in tears. The funeral, an hour later, was similar ... M and I saying good-bye to Sweet Pretty.
I suppose it's not all of us Last Quarter Players but most of us do have friendly animal ghosts from our first Three Quarters ... Dogs, Cats and others who have walked with us. And, so ....
IN MEMORIAM
Our first dog, Kazimierza Kuratowski von Mardanoff was a female Bernard. At the time, I was assisting the retired head of the Polska Akademie who was visiting in the USA. I had agreed to chauffeur him on a speaking tour in exchange for his mentoring me -- 65 years his junior -- on the history of Polish Mathematics ... on the History of Topology which he more or less began with Janiszewski and Sierpinski in the earlier part of the XXth C. Prof. Kuratowski asked that we name our dog after him. "Children? They've been named in my honor many times ... but never a dignified dog."
Kaz mothered our young sons and, as she came as a puppy, helped our oldest with his hesitancy around dogs as she grew from maybe 15 pounds to ten times that size. It was typical to find our two toddlers curled up like puppies sleeping against her belly ... protected by the boundary created by her big legs. Kaz had ten pups of her own. One, Karol Borsuk, stayed with us for nearly a year, though Kaz finally whacked her with her paw when at 9 months she tried to nurse. Kaz was, indeed, a Saint ... and a Living Ghost for both M and I.
Hans who we would learn was a Gretl was to be given by the Art Teacher to a student in a school I ran for disturbed adolescents. The student played hookie that last day of school and Hans returned home with me. It took M ten minutes to warm up to a cat; she had no previous contact with cats. M was 8 months with our third child. While Kaz died following a Gastric Torsion at 6, Hans lived to be a very old lady, indeed.
Schreber was a male St. Bernard and very protective. We took him to a Doggie Shrink who suggested that we castrate him. As soon as the Doc said that, Schreber took his right paw and covered his eyes. We thought it best to leave his testicles where God placed them and introduced each new stranger to him with the loaf of bread trick: meet the stranger at the curb and have them feed Schreber a piece of bread at-a-time until they were in the door. Job done! Best Friends Forever. Schreber did still have difficulty with anyone wearing fur. M's Sister came once wearing a fur collar. Schreber, who stood 6'5" tall when on his hind legs, went for her neck. He missed. At ten, Schreber passed quietly in the night. I have warm memories of coming home and him elevating himself ... paws on my shoulders ... and licking my face. What a guy! And off-campus and away from his protectorate, he was a sweetheart. You did Good, Schreber.
During Schreber's tenure, a hungry fat-cat showed up at our back door and stayed. Charcoal Grey with a little splash of White and a Big Appetite? We named him after a part of Hungary and mispelled it as Munkasz (pron. Mun-Kotch). He was no mouser and one resident-visitor seeing a mouse run across the kitchen floor screamed: "Do your job!" But Munkacz had no aggression in him and thought the mouse just fine. He lived to be an Old Fat Man ... and much beloved.
After Schreber died, M and I did the unthinkable: we drove by an SPCA, an animal rescue with a child in the back seat. Never do that! Our youngest took her best shot at "please, please" and won. Shayna Rosa, our first Mutt, was in the car. Shayna taught us all about inclusiveness and a great deal about love. Each new animal to come home was initiated into family life by Shayna. She brought Munkacz and later Matyos (who our son brought home from Vienna) down from their hiding places on the third floor. Shayna had it all figured out. She would sit at the bottom of the staircase and go up maybe two steps a week until she could sit with the new family member on the third floor and, eventually, come down with them. Initiation complete. We renamed her Shayna Rosa the Wonda Dog.
Shayna lived a long time and during her tenure we brought another Bernard Puppy into the fold ... Mitzvah for our daughter's 13th birthday. Shayna took on the role of Mother to the Pup ... and continued those functions throughout Mitzvah's life. Mitzvah was a ditz ... and a ditz with a seizure disorder that finally took her from us. Shayna's altogether too thorough cleaning of Mitzvah had our older son calling them the Lesbian Dogs from Hell. Shayna was no ditz, though. She had for years sat under the piano while this cat or another would walk across the keys. Shayna would howl like the Diva she was. When her baby, Mitzvah, died, Shayna went into mourning and stopped her singing for thirteen months -- maybe the mourning period in the World of Dogs. Shayna lived on. For two years after she died I had the thought, each time I opened the front door, that Shayna would be there ... and a sadness when the obvious reality returned. When that ghostly presence eased and three of our grandchildren were with us for a year, we relented to rescuing GuntherDog from a Kill-Shelter in Kentucky. But ... I've talked of Gunther a great deal in these notes.
There were other animals, as well. When our own spawn hung out with us, they typically came with their livestock. Winnie-Cat visited for a Summer and Schmookie came from the Middle-East ... a Persian from Jerusalem. Havi the Dog lived with us for a year. I'm pretty certain that I've forgotten some ... certainly, the rabbits and the rodents have been omitted but, then again, they aren't the bearers of love that dogs and cats are.
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I needed to remember, today, much as I needed to do that kindness in accompanying Pretty Girl to her rest. Rest in Peace, Pretty ... Y'did Real Good!
Just a singular last thought ... I've known lots of therapists ... have trained Psychiatrists, Psychologists, Social Workers and others and I have great admiration for many of my teachers, students and colleagues. Still, I would recommend a change in language.
Just a singular last thought ... I've known lots of therapists ... have trained Psychiatrists, Psychologists, Social Workers and others and I have great admiration for many of my teachers, students and colleagues. Still, I would recommend a change in language.
Therapy Dogs and Cats? They should rightly be called Therapists.
Those people who pretend to have the love that our Dogs and Cats have? I would call those pretenders People Therapists to distinguish them from the Real McCoy!
