50171
by Keith Brake
Montezuma Magazine Editor
It was a tough parking lot.
We had just emerged from a veterinarian’s office in Galena, Ill., having learned our 19-year-old gray cat, Smokey, had “four, maybe six months” to live.
He had kidney disease. There was nothing to do but wait.
I think it was possibly a sadder parking lot for us than when Linda first heard her diagnosis of breast cancer some years earlier.
Linda, with Smokey at her side, especially after after her surgery, survived.
Smokey was always there, waiting for her to emerge from a room, head-butting her if he wanted attention, rolling over so she would pet him.
When we slept at night, he had to be touching one of us.
He never bit anyone.
After diagnosis, he was put on medication and he did really well, to where I wondered if maybe he was going to beat the rap.
Five months passed, then six. We had asked the doctor, “how will we know when it’s time?”
“Oh, you’ll know,” she said.
We got into the seventh month.
Then one day, we knew it was time.
Linda and I have owned a number of cats and dogs, all of which passed away. There was a period of grief, but it always passed.
We went in with Smokey, and were with him when he died peacefully on Sept. 11.
The grieving was deeper this time. I felt a sense of melancholy for a while. Maybe because we were with him when he died? Or maybe because he was just extra special.
We don’t know for sure what breed he was. He was a gray shorthair, and there are a number of breeds matching that description. One of the doctors in Galena mentioned that the gray cats they’ve treated all have seemed to have a sweet disposition.
Maybe Smokey got that way because of who he had been around. Karen and Gary Schroeder of Brooklyn fostered him for a while, and mentioned they enjoyed him so much they would be glad to take him back should the need arise. (Our thanks to them for all the help they have provided to PALS animals!)
But, no need arose.
Smokey made it to Amber’s house. She’s our daughter, and an animal-lover.
When Amber first moved to Minneapolis, she couldn’t have pets in her apartment. She found homes for her cats, but saved her best one for mom and dad.
We had Smokey for his final seven years.
I wanted to replace him right away, but Linda said no. She didn’t want to have to go through the anguish of another pet dying, she said. I mentioned that dying is a part of every life.
Life is full of tough parking lots.
She said, “what if the cat outlives us?” We’re both 70, so it could happen. But I knew Amber would take that cat if that happened.
Amber and I kept chiseling away at her resistance.
One day, Linda said she didn’t think it would be smart to get another gray cat because we’d compare it to Smokey.
She was thinking about it!
Things moved quickly after that.
Gracie, a two-year-old calico-tabby mix, is now sharing our lives. We found her in a no-kill shelter in Monticello, Iowa. She’s young enough to be playful, which Smokey had mostly outgrown.
She is . . .an absolute joy!
And our memories of Smokey now are almost always good ones and they should be, because he was . . .special.
The poem below can commonly be found on plaques or decorative pieces honoring lost cats or dogs. I don’t have an author, but I think it rings true:
Waiting at the Door
I was just a kitten when first we met,
I loved you from the start,
you picked me up and took me home
and placed me in your heart.
Good times we had together,
we shared all life could throw,
but years passed all too quickly,
my time has come to go.
I know how much you miss me,
I know your heart is sore,
I see the tears that fall
when I’m not Waiting at the Door.
You always did your best for me,
your love was plain to see,
for even though it broke your heart,
you set my spirit free.
So please be brave without me,
one day we’ll meet once more,
for when you’re called to Heaven, I’ll be
Waiting at the Door.