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A eulogy for Remy, the cat-who-used-to-live-in-my-house.

Posted by ReluctantCynic (aka reluctantcynic) Jan 13 '10, 22:49

Remy, born April 20, 1996, died on the evening of January 13, 2010, just a few months shy of his 15th birthday. He is survived by at least four
"owners," dozens of former cohabitants, and more friends and admirers (two-legged and four-legged) than I could ever hope to have.

He died at my parents' house, in their company, where he has lived for close to five years. I had to give him up because five years ago because, due to dire financial straits at the time, I could afford only a tiny, run-down apartment. Even if I had been able to pay the pet deposit, I knew he would be happier at my parents. I was right.

These past several years, Remy passed his golden years in a lifestyle any cat would envy. Due to my step-dad's work schedule, he enjoyed human attention 22 hours a day (when he wanted it, of course). Tuna was dispensed at his beck and call. Afghans were placed by windows in strategic, sunlit spots where he could keep watch over his realm outside (though he never actually left the house). Homegrown catnip � fresh or dried � was his for the taking. He was a good cat. He'd earned a good life.

I could tell many stories about Remy, but suffice it to say that I know � as sure as I know anything � that he helped at least three people survive some very tough times. I was one of them.

He had a special intuition that I've never seen in any other cat. He was independent and aloof as any feline, but on my worst days (and I had plenty of them when we lived together), he just knew that I needed him to sit next to me. Or lie down in the crook of my arm as I was falling asleep. Or play with a mouse to distract me from my racing mind.

He even forced me to get out and walk around in the fresh air. I'd leash-trained him years before, and on some days, when all I wanted to do was lie on the couch in the dark and wallow in depression and self-pity, he would drag his leash and harness across the floor, drop them at my feet, and yowl at me until I took him outside for a walk.

He heard my deepest pain and my darkest anguish during that time many years ago. And he did exactly what I needed someone to do. Just sit with me. Quietly. And listen, even though he couldn't possibly understand.

Like David said some time ago, there are people who will never understand the emotional bonds � the sincere love � that can exist between people and their pets. This eulogy is not for you. In fact, it seems like this eulogy really is for me. Because I won't be able to say these words at a funeral or memorial service. I don't even think I could share this with anyone out in the world (it's just seems too corny). I can only share it here. And I just need to say the words because I am mourning tonight, and I ache with a sense of loss that surprises the hell out of me.

So, I thank you for letting me say the words.

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