Jayme's Shawna Cat

She was one or two years older than he. He never
abused her but had she been any other, she would not
have tolerated him. Yet, she craved affection and he
provided. Often, with his arm wrapped under her belly
with legs dangling, he'd carry her off to his
room. He held her captive in his bed. She cried to
be released, but he'd stoke her body, coaxing it to
settle in. He'd talk to her, reassure her the while.
And finally, she would succomb.

Countless hours, they spent like this. If he didn't
drag her off to his bed, he was dragging her off to
the couch. Oftentimes you would find them asleep
together, in the bed, on the couch, on the floor.
They truly loved each other.

For years they had traveled in the car together. She
cried mercilessly and he would perform his majic on
her. Talking endlessly to her, petting her,
reassuring her.

Once, when he was a baby, not yet one year old, across
the room I saw him on the floor and he was gasping.
It sounded like cries for help. With all four paws
atop his blondeness, the cat was kicking his head with
her hind legs. Her front paws had been declawed but I
knew those back claws were sharp.

Instantly, I ran to his rescue only discover that he
was laughing. Clearly the cat and the child were
involved in some form of play.

They carried on like this for 13 years until we left
for Japan. We had to leave several pets behind.
Grandma buried Mrs. Jingles, the pet mouse, the first
year. The second year, Sam, the neighbor's cat that
had come to live with us.

Grandma called us during the school day to advise us
of these deaths. "Why me?" Jayme would ask. "Why
does everything bad happen to me?" And then the
inevitable, "Why did we have to come to Japan?"

This time, things are so very different.

Jayme was finishing up the last school year in Japan.
He was enjoying the festivities and some sudden new
friendships. Grandma had sense not to cast a shadow
over any of it. Shawna's bowls, full of food and water
continued to be set out. Since Memorial day weekend,
people would assume the cat was outside. Grandma had
waited for Jayme's return.

I called to see if he and his X-Box arrived safely.
Jayme answered the phone. They were on their way to
Crickets, our favorite restaurant. Just before he left
Japan yesterday, he was wondering if he should have
the hamburger or the steak. But he was unusually quiet
now.

We were both comfortable with the silence, but I was
concerned. I fear for the boy's happiness, always. I
have not been a role model for happiness throughout
his life. He was such a playful and happy child but
I'd been prone to episodes of melancholy.

"I don't have much to say," he said. Then, after
another but brief pause, he told me.

We continued to hold the phone in silence. He
answered my few questions. Apparently, she died in
her sleep. Grandma told him before they'd entered the
house. She'd waited since Memorial Day to break the
news. He let me cry. Once again, we held the line in
silence. "Do you want to talk to Grandma?" he asked
me. "I can't talk right now," I replied, and we said
our goodbyes.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006 6:15 PM, Library Girl wrote: This is a heart-warming story with a hint (hints at) coming of age.

SUBJECTS
Pet owners -- Psychology.
Pets -- Death -- Psychological aspects.
Bereavement -- Psychological aspects.
Grief.