We lost a feline friend this week, the seemingly immortal Mr. Cat. He was 22. He had a home one block over, but traveled the neighborhood and at some point, adopted us too. He was a scrapper in his youth, regularly picking fights with another male cat, but in his declining years he mellowed. He showed up daily this past year for affection and treats: spoonfuls of baby food chicken.

Mr. Cat slept in the rose bushes, soaking up the sun, and later spent time on the deck, leaning into the wall for support as he absorbed the last of the sun’s rays. He was in terrible shape these past few months, frail and weak.

He was social to the end. He still sought our company and when the petting was good he would purr a unique, rasping, motoring sound deep in his chest. We all knew his days were numbered, but I hoped he would slip away in his sleep, a peaceful end for this scrappy character.

Wishes often don’t come true and death can be unkind. He took a nap on the floor of a neighbor’s garage where she unwittingly ran over his leg. His owner gathered him up as gently as he could and we drove together to the emergency animal hospital. Kitty was in shock with a shattered femur and at 22, surgery was not an option. I watched the family agonize over the decision to peacefully euthanize him. Knowing my affection ran deep, they graciously included me in the process. He died with three pairs of hands holding him and loving him as he eased out of this world.

I’ve caught myself looking for him around corners all day. His “guest bed” remains as a sad reminder that he’s not coming back. Mr. Cat, we miss you. Rest well.

In Memory of Our Cat, Ralph
by Garrison Keillor

When we got home, it was almost dark.
Our neighbor waited on the walk.
“I’m sorry, I have bad news,” he said.
“Your cat, the gray-black one, is dead.
I found him by the garage an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for letting us know.”

We dug a hole in the flower bed
With lilac bushes overhead,
Where this cat loved to lie in spring
And roll in dirt and eat the green
Delicious first spring bud,
And laid him down and covered him up,
Wrapped in a piece of tablecloth,
Our good old cat laid in the earth.

We quickly turned and went inside
The empty house and sat and cried
Softly in the dark some tears
For that familiar voice, that fur,
That soft weight missing from our laps,
That we had loved too well perhaps
And mourned from weakness of the heart.
A childish weakness, to regard
An animal whose life is brief
With such affection and such grief.

If such is weakness, so it be.
This modest elegy
Is only meant to note the death
Of one cat so we won’t forget
His face, his name, his gift
Of cat affection while he lived,
The sweet shy nature
Of this graceful creature,
The simple pleasure of himself,
The memory of our cat, Ralph.