Trying to Explain

Three years ago a little black cat with big gold eyes and a couple of little spots of white on her decided that unlike her siblings she was going to be brave and come inside this house that was attached to the garden shed where mother cat gave birth to four kittens. I was so shocked one morning when I went down for coffee and this little cat sauntered out of my Mom’s room. We vetoed Mom’s original name of Snickerdoodles and the cat came to be known as Pixie. I never expected my Mom to go nuts over a cat but Pixie was her world. Last night we lost Mom and Pixie was with her. How do you explain to a cat where her beloved human is and what happened and who this person was that loved and spoiled you?

You see Pixie the reason Mom always referred to herself as your grandmother when it was quite obvious that she was your person was that she knew you would out live her and if she kept up the façade that I was you Mommy then she felt it wouldn’t hurt you as much. Mom was like that. If there was anything she was it was a Mom. Her family was her life. She liked to spoil her children although she wouldn’t admit that was what she was doing. You know how much she loved spoiling you. She would sit in Dad’s recliner and hold you for a couple of hours even though she said she had stuff that had to be done. You were comfortable or taking a nap and didn’t want her to get up. You had her wrapped around your little paw. She fed you on demand, held you when you wanted to be held, told you what a beautiful and smart cat you were. She loved you very much.

Your grandmother didn’t have the easiest of lives. She was a Depression kid and the memories of trying to just make it thorough the day haunted her always. She worked from the time she was little trying to help with expenses. She was the youngest living child of ten. She was especially close to her Dad who was a tall, skinny, raw boned Irishman. Mom’s nickname was “Pat” because she was so proud of being Irish and her friends called her at first St. Patrick and then shortened it to Pat. Every year I made sure she had a St. Patrick’s Day card from me and in the last few years an Irish themed piece of art work to go with it.

You didn’t get to meet your “grandfather” since he passed away eleven years ago. You probably wouldn’t have spent your nights on that bed where you snuggled next to Mom. Dad was one who believed animals had their place and his bed wasn’t it. Of course he would have held you and petted you when he thought no one was looking. Dad was like that. I use to refer to him as a hairy marshmallow. He was the only man your grandmother ever loved. It is ironic that they both went the same way, sudden heart attacks. At least neither one of them suffered. It for those of us living to suffer the loss now.

Your grandmother had a high school education and really was smart. She should have been able to go on to college and get a teacher’s degree. She was a wonderful teacher and did end up teaching classes at her church. She also worked as a teacher’s aide and got to teach some there too. She really loved working with children. She was always self conscious about not having gone further in school but she loved to read and went through all my mysteries. She also surprised me in the fact that she like Dean Koontz and Stephen King. I always thought those would be too gory for her. Your grandmother was full of surprises.

I know she talked to you when we were gone. Did she ever tell you how she met her husband? It was a funny story. She had been going with this guy and although they had decided to be just friends he still carried her picture. He showed it to my Dad one day and Dad asked for her address. They started writing and he went to see her for the first time on an Army leave. This was during the second world war. Your grandmother was working at the soda fountain at the drug store and was so nervous that when she met your grandfather she dropped the hot fudge sundae she was holding on his lap. They eloped when she was seventeen to St. Louis. They found a minister who was cleaning out a furnace and a couple of witnesses. Mom had never been to a big city before and stepped off a curb and sprained her ankle because she was “gawking” at the skyscrapers. Dad was her only love and when we buried him in May of 2009 we buried part of her heart with him. She has always missed him and that sorrow you felt around her sometimes were the times she was remembering him. She always talked about joining him and now she has.

So what now little Pixie? I’m asking myself the same thing. I moved out here six years ago at her request to help take care of her because her heart was going. It was a tough job believe you me because your grandmother was the most stubborn woman who ever lived. Somehow they forget to tell you that being a caretaker is the hardest job in the world. It is the emotional toll that will get to you. The day to day things aren’t that bad. She was never bed ridden although the last few months she was sick with sinus infections so much that she spent a lot of time in bed. You find that there are things that you can do that will make her happy. Remember how she would always show you the art work I did or the photographs that I had taken? She even replaced my art computer when it died with a state of the art machine that was built just for me. She knew how important my art was to me and she wanted to see the art I would be making.

So now little Pixie we have to try and go on living without her. I know I work all day and can’t hold you on demand for hours like you are use to but you will get cuddle time with me. You can sleep with me although with Merlin taking up half the bed it will be a tight squeeze. I didn’t expect him to be 17 ½ pounds or so cotton picking big. We go on and tell people that yes being a caretaker is the hardest and the most rewarding job in the world. She lived longer then we thought she would considering her heart but I think the last three years we can attribute to you. You brought her so much joy and love.