Fare Thee Well, My Sweet Murphy

[kybearfuzz]

In 2002, I was cat-less. A coworker said she had an orange-striped cat that she wanted to find a home for and asked if I'd take "her." I agreed, and when she showed up with this behemoth of a cat, I immediately knew it wasn't a female. Due to some gender confusion by my coworker about her then-new kitten, her cat was saddled with female pronouns. I didn't want a male cat, but she made me a deal for me to keep him for two weeks as a trial run. For two weeks, this cat hid in the storage space under the main floor of my house. I went and got him twice, only to have him run back in. He ate and got water in the night when I was sleeping.

At my wit's end, I called her and told her to come and get him, as the cat was clearly miserable. She asked if I'd keep him over the weekend and that she'd come and get him on Monday. I agreed. As I hung up the phone and turned around, the cat was sitting on the top stair looking at me. We had an understanding now. He had moved in.

That cat was Murphy.


Murphy the Cat
Born 2000 - Died August 13, 2013

The veterinarian called me this afternoon to tell me that the mass in Murphy's tummy was likely cancer. He gave me several options, but none of them were good. The expensive surgery would need to be followed up with cancer care, such as chemotherapy. Whether a biopsy showed it was cancer or not, the mass needed to be removed and Murphy was terribly weak already. He said I could just take him home and we'd treat him with medication, but the idea of him slowly wasting away was horrible to me. The final choice was letting him go. The vet told me to come to the office and we could discuss it further after work.

When I went there, they brought me Murphy. He was more alert, but so weak that he couldn't do much more than lay in my lap. He meowed a bit and I stroked his back. As I held him it made me realize that none of the choices but one was appropriate. I love him so much and it's the roughest decision a pet owner can make. I finally told the doctor that I could not let him suffer. She understood completely. I had some time alone with him, hugged him, kissed his head, begged him to forgive me, and told him how much I loved him repeatedly. He was purring finally.

The doctor returned and gave him the overdose of sedative while I held his head. He was gone so quickly and quietly, like a candle burning out. I felt so guilty, so empty, but logically I knew it had to be done.

When I was a kid, I remember a Baptist preacher telling me that people went to Heaven and that pets didn't when they died. People have souls, he said, and pets do not. Even as a child, I thought that sounded so amazingly wrong. I couldn't imagine a God that created such wonderful puppies and kittens to make us happy and share our lives and then just let them blink out of existence.

Over the years, I have had a few pets, each one had a different personality, a different way of reacting to me and others, showing the individuality of them all. I loved them all. While they may not be able to think like a human, they do feel and I think they can care for us. They sometimes find us, not the other way around.

As I held Murphy as his life faded away, I hurt so inside. Murphy left for Heaven, leaving me behind. I hope to see him again someday.

He left here with a soul.

At the very least, he left here with the piece of mine I gave him.

I love you, Murphy.

Comments

[champdaddy.livejournal.com]

Sincere sympathy