* * * * * * *
As longtime readers of this blog are aware. I eventually quit my job as supervisor at a call center, my funds dwindled, and I was eventually evicted from the Gorham apartment. This began the strange and crooked path that I am still on now, just over five years later.
I was fortunate to find a wonderful friend, Pauline McNeil, who fostered Buddy and Tabitha when I headed out onto the street for the first time on May 1, 2011, also beginning the first of my five Journeys, Odyssey (available to read starting here). I literally left most of my stuff and just walked away into the night.
Over that summer my heart was broken to learn that Tabitha had become very sick and was put to sleep. Buddy, who would not stay inside without peeing on poor Pauline's furniture to punish her, became the first outdoor cat she'd ever cared for. But it worked out.
I was able to pick him up and live with him again when I got the offer to rent a room from a friend in Buxton in September of that same year. He lived a good life there too...
Buddy hanging out with the other cats.
He was now the elder.
* * * * * *
I left Buxton in 2013 to live in Casco at a drummer's home, with whom I recorded two EP's, as the band, Blue Window (if you click this, you will see where the EP project got stuck--something I hope to rectify soon). And, of course I brought Buddy.
* * * * *
That living situation was a terrible failure and I left there three months later, again with Buddy, to come full circle, back to the North Saco property where the two of us lived in a camper for another year, enduring an awful period of poverty and the coldest winter Maine had experienced for years. On one night the temperature descended to -22 degrees F. I did not eat much during those days, but I always made sure Buddy had food and was warm.
Some photos of my last days there, before leaving on what would become the Manifest Destiny Journey and first continental Crossing...
A picture from our last day in North Saco before leaving in October, 2014.
To read the backstory about why I chose to leave Maine click here.
To read the backstory about why I chose to leave Maine click here.
* * * *
My sister had lost her precious Brittany Spaniel, Coco, and graciously offered to care for Buddy while crossed the country. Everything was a mess for me, as I've written about extensively here. I did not know if I'd ever see Buddy again. I was thankful that he had such a great place to live in South Portland. Deb said it was like his retirement. And, it truly was. She pampered him and let him rule the house as anything else would have been below him. He certainly fell in love with his Auntie Deb. She gave him the same kind of love I would have, but quite a bit more security.
He did very well for about a year, and then a growth that had been just a small bump on his forehead when I left turned into a large benign tumor. Deb and I raised funds through a Go Fund Me campaign and she had the tumor successfully removed.
She was very cognizant about how news about Buddy could keep me going during some of the hardest times on the road and frequently sent me pictures of my boy, including these...
She was very cognizant about how news about Buddy could keep me going during some of the hardest times on the road and frequently sent me pictures of my boy, including these...
Cat in a blanket.
My niece getting a face full of softness.
He liked his new form of brushing!
Sun lover.
By the time I got to Poughkeepsie, New York, having spent a year and a half away from Maine and writing all the posts that many of you have read, I received word that Buddy had taken a turn for the worse. He was drooling and not cleaning himself properly.
* * *
Though the vet examined him, he never really determined exactly what the problem was. The diagnoses of tongue cancer was a somewhat anecdotal one. Deb tried to prepare me for Buddy's appearance, as I made my way through Massachusetts and back up to Maine. But I was still shocked and saddened by how bad he'd gotten. This, taken a few days before we let him go, gives some idea...
"I've felt better Papa..."
I was anxious that he wouldn't recognize me, but he did immediately. There were no hard feelings on his part. He'd had a ball with his auntie and lived a better life than I could have given him during the time I was away. I counted myself truly blessed that he was still here when I got back. Deb had accomplished her own personal mission of making sure we were reunited.
Deb invited me to stay at the house and take care of him while she went to Germany for two weeks to visit our mom. And my old boy and I rebonded.
He remembered our special language and seemed genuinely happy that I was back on the scene despite his deteriorating situation. But his life had gotten very uncomfortable. For such a regal and fastidious creature, his frustration with not being able to groom himself was palpable and sometimes pitiful.
He remembered our special language and seemed genuinely happy that I was back on the scene despite his deteriorating situation. But his life had gotten very uncomfortable. For such a regal and fastidious creature, his frustration with not being able to groom himself was palpable and sometimes pitiful.
Yet there was something about him that simply would not diminish. It was his zest for being alive. He was willing to go through all of this pain and indignity in order to watch that sunrise each morning just like he used to on the wood pile at Charlie's, and then lie in that sun, following it around the yard each day. His appetite never declined even as his ability to eat became practically impossible.
His tongue didn't work anymore, so he would have to jam his face into the bowl to pick up food and then lurch forward to get it to the back of his throat. With each day came more coughing, then some choking. Deb and I kept contemplating taking him in to be put to sleep, but it was his attitude, that, "don't worry, I got this" attitude, his stoic kindness and continued companionship that kept us at bay.
Each day, before leaving to walk downtown and work, I spent time combing him, cutting his food into just the right sized pieces, encouraging him to drink. Because of the tongue issues, he had to bite at the water to get any of it in. STILL, every night he would purr and pull himself up onto the bed to sleep with me. In the mornings he'd wake me up with his "aaack" meow for food.
On the rainy Saturday before the Clam Festival weekend, I got home and Buddy was nowhere to be seen. He didn't come when I called. Halfheartedly, I hoped he had decided to find a quiet place to lie down and pass away. The next day? Still no Buddy home. It looked like my wish might have come true. Then the next morning as I was preparing to leave the house a call came in from the Animal Refuge League that they had a cat fitting Buddy's description. This cat would not be lost before his time. To make a long story a bit shorter, one of Deb's friends offered to take me out to pick up Buddy and bring him home.
Apparently, some "good Samaritan," who both Deb and I learned was more of a meddling neighbor, had seen Buddy crossing the road on that rainy Saturday night and - thinking he was injured (which is excusable) - brought him all the way to that Westbrook shelter.
The neighbor claimed that Buddy had been left alone by Deb's household "going in and out of a window for days." Obviously, this little white lie was to cover his/her "selfless" act in case it was questioned. Deb and I were not pleased about this, especially upon learning that the neighbor knew Deb's name. It was something akin to making up a story about her putting her children at risk--THE most ridiculous possible scenario, especially if you know my sister. And now you know how attentive I myself had been as well. Anyway, with that little drama having passed by we kept on keeping on.
On the rainy Saturday before the Clam Festival weekend, I got home and Buddy was nowhere to be seen. He didn't come when I called. Halfheartedly, I hoped he had decided to find a quiet place to lie down and pass away. The next day? Still no Buddy home. It looked like my wish might have come true. Then the next morning as I was preparing to leave the house a call came in from the Animal Refuge League that they had a cat fitting Buddy's description. This cat would not be lost before his time. To make a long story a bit shorter, one of Deb's friends offered to take me out to pick up Buddy and bring him home.
Apparently, some "good Samaritan," who both Deb and I learned was more of a meddling neighbor, had seen Buddy crossing the road on that rainy Saturday night and - thinking he was injured (which is excusable) - brought him all the way to that Westbrook shelter.
The neighbor claimed that Buddy had been left alone by Deb's household "going in and out of a window for days." Obviously, this little white lie was to cover his/her "selfless" act in case it was questioned. Deb and I were not pleased about this, especially upon learning that the neighbor knew Deb's name. It was something akin to making up a story about her putting her children at risk--THE most ridiculous possible scenario, especially if you know my sister. And now you know how attentive I myself had been as well. Anyway, with that little drama having passed by we kept on keeping on.
Buddy simply would not give up. We were waiting for him to lose his desire for food. But that just didn't happen.
Even though nothing was completely decided when I made my short trip to Yarmouth to see friends at the Clam Festival, I think we both knew that the next week would be Buddy's last.
On that Saturday night Deb messaged me and we decided that the day would be Monday. My heart was heavy on the walk back to South Portland. I remembered how it felt to bring Fonta in for the same procedure years before and knew what awaited us. Upon arriving at Deb's at 2:00 am I went into the kitchen to get some water and heard that click, click, click of Buddy's tired old back leg as he came into the room to greet me. He smiled with his eyes and "aaacked" for food. Dutifully, I complied with a small and carefully cut bit. He did his best to chomp at it and then we both headed to "beddies" (the word Buddy knew for sleepy time).
In the morning I woke and went back out to the kitchen. Deb and I had been scratching our heads wondering how to pay for the visit the next day. The vet charged $130, an amount we both thought was absurd. She suggested we shop around a bit for something more reasonable. The Animal Refuge League in Westbrook charged a lot less ($65), but would not allow us to be present with him during the procedure. That was not acceptable. Then Deb thought that maybe the place where she had brought her dog, the Scarborough Animal Hospital might be an option. I called them and discovered that they would only charge $50 and we would be allowed to be with him until the end, but we would have to go on that very day (Sunday). We decided it was best. I went downtown to work for a couple hours and then returned.
We chose not to use the cat carrier so that Buddy would be less stressed. I picked him up, climbed into the car with Deb and we drove to Scarborough. All the while, Buddy purred loudly and was very good about riding, watching all of the outside world as it sped by us.
We arrived and the receptionist brought us into the room to wait. And, we waited, and waited, and waited... Buddy walked around on the floor with his eye on the door for his typical opportunity to escape if it opened. He went over to the window and Deb opened the shade so he could see the trees and the evening sun, now growing golden.
I imagined what he might be thinking. He wanted to get out of there and explore, hunt, lie in the sun... Surely he would only be there for a typical vet visit, right?
He looked tired. It was turning into an especially long wait. I paced, half talking to Deb and half to myself. "If they say he looks too healthy, then we're outta here. I'm ready to use any excuse to not go through with this."
It was my heart speaking. My mind knew that the time was truly right. The heart and mind simply weren't yet on the same page. Deb and I sat with Buddy, who curled up between us on the bench, purring, purring, always purring. For me the heart/mind conflict had to do with seeing Buddy alive and interacting with us, while only a few minutes into the future he would be gone. It didn't make sense somehow that both times seemed to be present simultaneously.
Finally the nurse came in and told us she was going to take him out of the room to insert a catheter into his foot to make the injection easier. We placed him on the thick towel that the shelter had given us after Buddy's "rescue" by the "good Sameritan" the week before. The nurse wrapped him up and he looked at us as he passed through the door...trusting.
When he was brought back in something had changed. He was sluggish and only looked forward, off into space. For the first time since we had known him, his purr...was gone. Deb and I worked to get him back into his usual mood. But it would not return. We wondered if they had given him a sedative and asked when the doctor finally arrived. She said they hadn't. To tell you the truth, I still find that a bit hard to believe. But at the time, we believed.
She explained that the first shot would make him sleep and the second shot would stop his heart, then asked if we were ready. We looked at each other. Buddy put his chin down on the towel as if he were going to take a nap. We agreed that now was the time. I positioned myself so I could look into his eyes. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw.
The first shot was given and his body drooped. Deb held her hand on his back and felt the heart still beating. His eyes were partially open. Then the doctor administered the second shot, and I saw his pupils expand and cloud up. He was gone. The sweet doctor said, "He just got his leg back..."
They brought him out back and very kindly made a paw print in clay, clipped a bit of his soft fur for us, then placed him in a tiny casket shaped cardboard box. Deb went to the counter to settle the bill, and I went out in the parking lot and wept.
We brought his body to a special place near where he had been born, very near where that old car with those little kitten voices had been nearly twenty years before and buried him. The circle of his life had been completed...
Even though nothing was completely decided when I made my short trip to Yarmouth to see friends at the Clam Festival, I think we both knew that the next week would be Buddy's last.
* *
On that Saturday night Deb messaged me and we decided that the day would be Monday. My heart was heavy on the walk back to South Portland. I remembered how it felt to bring Fonta in for the same procedure years before and knew what awaited us. Upon arriving at Deb's at 2:00 am I went into the kitchen to get some water and heard that click, click, click of Buddy's tired old back leg as he came into the room to greet me. He smiled with his eyes and "aaacked" for food. Dutifully, I complied with a small and carefully cut bit. He did his best to chomp at it and then we both headed to "beddies" (the word Buddy knew for sleepy time).
In the morning I woke and went back out to the kitchen. Deb and I had been scratching our heads wondering how to pay for the visit the next day. The vet charged $130, an amount we both thought was absurd. She suggested we shop around a bit for something more reasonable. The Animal Refuge League in Westbrook charged a lot less ($65), but would not allow us to be present with him during the procedure. That was not acceptable. Then Deb thought that maybe the place where she had brought her dog, the Scarborough Animal Hospital might be an option. I called them and discovered that they would only charge $50 and we would be allowed to be with him until the end, but we would have to go on that very day (Sunday). We decided it was best. I went downtown to work for a couple hours and then returned.
We chose not to use the cat carrier so that Buddy would be less stressed. I picked him up, climbed into the car with Deb and we drove to Scarborough. All the while, Buddy purred loudly and was very good about riding, watching all of the outside world as it sped by us.
We arrived and the receptionist brought us into the room to wait. And, we waited, and waited, and waited... Buddy walked around on the floor with his eye on the door for his typical opportunity to escape if it opened. He went over to the window and Deb opened the shade so he could see the trees and the evening sun, now growing golden.
I imagined what he might be thinking. He wanted to get out of there and explore, hunt, lie in the sun... Surely he would only be there for a typical vet visit, right?
He looked tired. It was turning into an especially long wait. I paced, half talking to Deb and half to myself. "If they say he looks too healthy, then we're outta here. I'm ready to use any excuse to not go through with this."
It was my heart speaking. My mind knew that the time was truly right. The heart and mind simply weren't yet on the same page. Deb and I sat with Buddy, who curled up between us on the bench, purring, purring, always purring. For me the heart/mind conflict had to do with seeing Buddy alive and interacting with us, while only a few minutes into the future he would be gone. It didn't make sense somehow that both times seemed to be present simultaneously.
Finally the nurse came in and told us she was going to take him out of the room to insert a catheter into his foot to make the injection easier. We placed him on the thick towel that the shelter had given us after Buddy's "rescue" by the "good Sameritan" the week before. The nurse wrapped him up and he looked at us as he passed through the door...trusting.
When he was brought back in something had changed. He was sluggish and only looked forward, off into space. For the first time since we had known him, his purr...was gone. Deb and I worked to get him back into his usual mood. But it would not return. We wondered if they had given him a sedative and asked when the doctor finally arrived. She said they hadn't. To tell you the truth, I still find that a bit hard to believe. But at the time, we believed.
She explained that the first shot would make him sleep and the second shot would stop his heart, then asked if we were ready. We looked at each other. Buddy put his chin down on the towel as if he were going to take a nap. We agreed that now was the time. I positioned myself so I could look into his eyes. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw.
The first shot was given and his body drooped. Deb held her hand on his back and felt the heart still beating. His eyes were partially open. Then the doctor administered the second shot, and I saw his pupils expand and cloud up. He was gone. The sweet doctor said, "He just got his leg back..."
They brought him out back and very kindly made a paw print in clay, clipped a bit of his soft fur for us, then placed him in a tiny casket shaped cardboard box. Deb went to the counter to settle the bill, and I went out in the parking lot and wept.
We brought his body to a special place near where he had been born, very near where that old car with those little kitten voices had been nearly twenty years before and buried him. The circle of his life had been completed...
*
Concentric waves radiated out into our lives, moving out from the place of its return. And in a few moments they grew smaller and smaller until the Lake's surface was calm again.
When we returned to Deb's I went for a walk of remembrance, off the road's shoulder, down to the spot I had prepared on the edge of the Fore River...
And didn't the clouds look like orange fur?
There, I sat for a long time examining life--as much of life as I could wrap my mind around. My tears were replaced by a wide smile. How wonderful this world is. The Creator saw fit to not only give us our own lives but fill our world with creatures we could love and learn from. They are the flourished serifs in the written language of human existence, there to give us softness, enrich meaning, and punctuate value. So, I ask again...
Can a cat change the whole world?
Now, Deb and I surely know the answer to that question and I think you do also.
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