I woke up early Christmas Eve, around 5 a.m. My rest was restless. Thoughts of my dying cat weighed heavy on my heart like a succubus in lead gogo boots standing on my chest. My pet familiar of ten years had been mortally deteriorating these past two weeks. He’d rest his head against the wall for hours. He had become razor thin. He stopped eating and drinking. Mucus drained out of the corners of his eyelids (if anyone can explain this, let me know). Yesterday, he could hardly move. Even Amy felt sorry for that “poor S.O.B.” as I covered him in a blanket for the night.
The next morning, I found our cat lying a few feet from where we left him. Somehow he had dragged himself three feet across the floor towards our Charlie Brown Christmas treee. I laid next to him for a little while.
Ten years ago….
“Hey, I saw this flyer at the hospital - someone’s giving away a cat,” I told my then-fiancee Amy on the phone circa 1997.
The family had two cats. Their kids weren’t nice to the striped tabby and its nondetachable tail, both of which were apparent the few minutes we were there to pick him up. Their little girl cried as we took her junior Abu Graib project away.
The cat and I didn’t exactly hit it off. He was damaged goods; skittish. I was frustrated by his lack of affection. For months, our battle of mutual solitude continued. Eventually one cold night, my invisible cat nestled at my feet for the first time while I played Quake on the computer. Our truce was made to the sounds of nailgun fire and gibbed hellspawn.
The local news had been running ridiculous stories about an escaped lion/tiger at the time (Michigan is just that boring). I joked with Amy, “Hey did you see that story about the escaped liger on the news? I think I found him.” And thus, … The LIGER! was named.
(from 2001)
Now….
I guess I was glad … The LIGER! died at home in front of our Christmas tree, in warm surroundings. It was kind of odd not hearing his morning meows. I found a box just his size. He was stiff.
I heard the pitter patter of little feet socks. My biggest fear about … The LIGER! dying was how my five year old boy would handle it. He loved that cat. He verbally defended him but refused to acknowledge that his “baby cat” was old. He truly learned to be gentle and thoughtful with … The LIGER!
“What’s in the box, appah?” my little boy asked.
“Sun Su,” I put my arm around his little red pajama body, “… The Liger got really sick.”
“Is he going to get better?”
“No, he won’t be waking up again” I said.
“But it’s almost Christmas.”
“I know, but the cat was too old. Sometimes if someone is too old and too sick, they go to sleep and don’t wake up.”
“Can I see?”
I opened the box.
“Why isn’t he moving?”
“… (The) LIGER’s dead, Sun Su… but we can get another cat if you want,” I added trying to give him something to look forward to even if it sounded a bit callous.
“When can we get a new cat?”
“After a while. We have to take care of … The LIGER! first.”
“Can I pet him?”
“Yeah, his fur is soft.”
Sun Su’s smile shone like sun rays through rain clouds, “Hehee, … (The) LIGER! looks like a present.”
He was a present.
“Can we put him under the tree?”
“I don’t think umma would like that much.”
When Amy and Ooseung woke up I told them the news. Ooseung made a funny face first, then stopped and asked,
“For real?”
“We have to bury him and give him back to the earth,” Amy said cryptically, followed by, “NOW WASH YOUR HANDS IF YOU’VE TOUCHED THAT DEAD CAT!!”
Amy’s father volunteered to bury the cat behind our house. We hadn’t even told him yet.
“Can we still visit … The LIGER! behind our house?” Sun Su asked.
“Yeah. He’d like that.”
I have to admit having a little less responsibility has been nice. For the past year, … The LIGER! had been using the entire basement as his personal litterbox (while ignoring his own). Not having to scrub and mop the basement every week has been a relief. Not having to worry about finding the perfect cat food for tired geriatric cats is nice.
Now when I’m the only person awake in the house at night, I truly am. … The LIGER!’s always been my fellow night owl these past ten years.
Twenty years is damn old for a cat. Did I honestly think he was going to live much longer? Yeah, I kind of did. I suppose people feel the same way about their 91-year old grandparents and parents sometimes.
When did I become a cat person? Quite a while ago, but not soon enough. I can do better next time. It’s not often one gets a second chance in love or life.
OOSEUNG: “Can we get a turtle?”
AMY: “Who’s going to clean up the poop, girl?”
ME: “We are not getting some useless turtle.”
AMY: “How about a fish, Ooseung-i?”
ME: “No fish (boring, short-lived). No turtles (boring). No dogs (too much work). If we get a new pet, it’s going to be a cat. One that can poop and pee in it’s litterbox.”
SUN SU: “I don’t want a new pet.”
SUN SU’S COUSIN (the religious one who thinks God is faster than The Flash): “Your cat is in heaven now.”
SUN SU: “No he’s not. He’s in the box.”
… The LIGER!
1987 - Dec. 24, 2007
Rest in peace, my fearful symmetry.
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LOOT
I made this for Amy for Christmas - enlarged and framed it too. She loves Warhol’s works with Marilyn Monroe. She really liked it. She also made me give it to her two days before Christmas. (Larger image here)
I also turned thirty seven this month and I got socks and underwear for my birthday from her. I was positively pissed about that and let Amy know it. Especially after years of busting my ass getting her presents. There comes a time in your life where you have to make some ground rules - No Socks or Underwear on My Birthday. The next day she gave me a nice sterling silver tie clip. I was happy.
