Writers4Higher Pays Tribute To Piggy
The Muse Cat
If you are an animal lover
as I am, you understand two basic truths: all pets are special, and most are
more noble than the majority of humans. Every now and then, one particular
critter shares your life, one that can practically read your mind, one that
digs deep into your heart and shares your spirit.
Such was my muse cat, Piggy.
He came to our home at eight
weeks of age, a fuzz ball, gray tabby born in a lumber mill. The name we
provided the vet was Sisko, but he
rapidly outgrew that title. For the next seventeen years, he answered to Piggy,
based on the fact he never met a food bowl he didn’t love. One of his kitten
pictures shows him sprawled across a pie tin half-filled with kibble, face
down, satiated, and fast asleep. I posted that picture on Facebook years ago,
and it traveled around the globe. A while back, I found Piggy in that full-on
face plant pose, nestled among other snapshots of equally funny animals. The
title of the slideshow compilation: Have
you ever been so tired that . . . ?
Piggy was no ordinary cat.
Even folks who normally didn’t warm to felines liked him. He came when called,
drank from the bathroom sink, ate nearly every human food allowed, carried on animated
conversations, and was happiest when he was close to his people. I wrote
thousands of words with him reclining next to the laptop, watching me with huge
green eyes, commenting every so often.
In winter, he doubled as a toasty
lap cover during TV time and a pillow hog in the night hours. Did I mention he
was an alarm clock? Oh yes. When he was young, and could still hear the coffeemaker
crank up, he initiated a daily, pacing meow-a-thon that nothing could thwart.
In his senior years, when age diminished his abilities, he slept in the
threshold to the kitchen so he wouldn’t miss the end triple-beep of the Cuisinart.
He saved energy enough to hop onto the bed to awaken the lazy two-legged
creatures. Humans do serve a function, you see. They possess opposable thumbs for opening cans: vital, since no edible vermin or birds share the interior of
the house.
For the past two years,
Piggy battled failing kidneys and pancreatitis. Aided by the kindest veterinarian
anyone could wish for, Piggy pushed away from the Reaper time after time, with
a fierce determination to live.
But a guy gets tired. And he
did.
On his last day, Piggy
managed to pad down the hall, meow the alarm, and meet us in the kitchen. But
he ate only one bite. And, as he had for the past three days, he barely touched
his food and did not drink.
This past Wednesday, on a
morning as ordinary as any, we had our final chat. I am not sure what he said,
as I am a mere human who can’t decipher his language as well as he could mine,
but I believe it was last-minute instructions on how to carry forward without
him. Along with the other felines and canines that shared this earthly passage,
he will be waiting, and it will only be the swish of a furry tail before we
meet again.
Godspeed, Piggy, sir. You
were a good cat, a faithful muse, and one heck of a friend.
