☺️ Thanks, Lyn. I should probably lay off the heartstrings! I can offer this: It's never my intention to evoke tears, but maybe I'm tapping into the misty-eyed mode I've been in for a handful of years now.
This is such a tender and loving story that helps us with the nearing death of our very old cat, and the inescapable death of my fairly old person. The unknowable mystery of death is something I probably won't come to some sort of understanding about until it is facing me directly. Until then, this story you have told, and others like them are comforting.
Oh, Darrell, hugs, Goodbyes are hard no matter how they come or how long we have to prepare. I am truly honored to know that this story brought you some comfort. May the light continue to shine where you need it most.
Oh, Elizabeth! What a beautiful character study and meditation on love and death and mystery! What a perfect name for your Puck! Your story reminds me of my childhood dog, Fritzie. I got pick of his litter, but didn't choose him. He was the runt. I chose his flashier, friendlier brother. That one escaped from our house and got hit by a car in mere months; Fritzie was the only left by then, and my parents' friends brought him to me. He outlived my childhood, with a similar long decline. One day he disappeared, and my mother went to the woods at the end of the block and found him under a bush. She brought him home. A few days later, he disappeared again--for good, this time. We like to think he got a good dog's death, one, as you say, on his terms.
Ah, Fritzie. There's something about the ones that leave the grand finale to our imagination, as if to suggest they could have just wandered into a new existence without any detour at all. Thanks for sharing that story, Rita.
As for Puck, it didn't occur to me until we were already deeply committed, that we called our next boy cat Tucker. Though different in so many ways, the two were similar in their mischief making. It was helpful to have a built in cover for my tendency toward a particular expletive in the face of their devil-may-care attitudes. "Puck...! I said Puck!" 😅
Oh my.... So very meaningful and so very moving.... What stood out to me was what was revealed in the beginning... that these were feral cats...outcasts...wild and unwanted... Can't help but parallel human life somewhat.... It's amazing the love you and Jim received and the lessons you were taught and shown and the blessings you gave to the rest of us from "the least of these"....
Love that observation, Barry. I'm sure we received far more than we gave, but it was good, while it lasted, to be in a reciprocal relationship with the shared blessings.
Thank you for reading and commenting, as always, my friend.
I believe this so deeply, Mermaid. In fact, it troubles me when I hear humans making assessments about the intelligence, or lack of it, in plant and animal species. As if we really know! Thank you so much for being part of Chicken Scratch.
I love seeing these old pictures of your life. Our pets bring so much to our hearts. We call our hound dog Ella the “drama queen therapy dog.” Somehow she always knows when you need support.
Sigh. Oh Puck. Beautifully written. Death is such a scary boundary. We rail against it, but it is more determined. So we can only choose our attitude to it instead. I suspect acceptance of our own death might be easier than facing those around us, but only time will tell. Thanks for such a heartfelt story. Sending heaps of hugs and best wishes.
A wise comment, Beth. It's easier to consider death and dying when it's not my own or my beloveds departures I'm thinking about. I hope it's helping me prepare all the same.
Such languages we learn to understand, right? I did laugh at the bath moment behind closed doors. But I must say, I got chills head to toe when you found Puck in the loft with you on the day Cobweb died. Such a connection... and such understanding. That he was able to convey his wishes in the end is so heartbreaking and yet wonderful. On one's own terms, when possible, seems like always the best approach.
We've laughed about the bath story at many a family meal across the years, Amy. Thankfully, no humans, nor cats, were harmed in the making of that mistake! 😅
I'll admit that I wouldn't have predicted the depth of connection with Puck toward the end. He'd been such an independent soul that I think I'd never looked for anything that profound to reveal itself. Thank you for sharing the magic of it with me!
Taking help in any unexpected form -- I'm in sponge mode!
I appreciate knowing who among us is on board with continued conversations on such a tough subject. Thanks Janice. As for the younger me/us... I suppose we've had equal measures of years and tears since our hair has gone equally silver. :)
Dear Puck - what stature, what presence. The story raised a lump in my throat and the thing I really appreciated was that message “My terms,” … “I’ll do this on my terms.” It’s a strange thing with animals, isn't it, that they prefer to die in peace and in their own way? I am in awe of Puck’s strength of will. What an amazing cat.
I love your choice of the word presence; it was just that, yes. In my experience, grief after death is a little easier when the dying have been able to make their wishes so clearly known. So, I count that among the blessings he gave us. Thanks, Prue!
Okay this is totally TMI, but I actually LOVE cleaning my ears. That said, I would not have wanted Puck to do it, and I'm glad I didn't have to do his. 🤣
I think you and Puck of you would be well matched in the spunk department! Appreciate you being here, Eileen.
Beautiful! And yes to leaving on their/our own terms. I grew up on a dairy farm and the dogs and cats were my best friends. True to their nature, they would often wander away to be alone at the end. A number of years ago my husband and I had adopted a sweet dog from the Humane Society. We had her for 15+ years, and when the end was very clearly near, we took her there to be lovingly escorted to the beyond. She had not been able to walk the previous evening, but when I pulled the car up near the house door to carry her, she stood and walked. The same happened when we had reached the building, she walked down the same hallway she had all those years ago and entered the room and walked straight to the blanket on the floor prepared for her. I never felt more at peace and sure we had done it ‘right”.
Beautiful, Elizabeth. Weren't you all the lucky ones--Puck included. 💕
We definitely were! Thanks for stopping by, Mona.
Your stories are so beautifully written. And they never fail to pull at the heartstrings and bring on the warm tears. Thank you for sharing.
☺️ Thanks, Lyn. I should probably lay off the heartstrings! I can offer this: It's never my intention to evoke tears, but maybe I'm tapping into the misty-eyed mode I've been in for a handful of years now.
Grateful to you for being here.
This is such a tender and loving story that helps us with the nearing death of our very old cat, and the inescapable death of my fairly old person. The unknowable mystery of death is something I probably won't come to some sort of understanding about until it is facing me directly. Until then, this story you have told, and others like them are comforting.
Oh, Darrell, hugs, Goodbyes are hard no matter how they come or how long we have to prepare. I am truly honored to know that this story brought you some comfort. May the light continue to shine where you need it most.
Very strong writing!!!
Thank you, Alfred. Every writer appreciates a comment like that! So good to see you here.
Oh, Elizabeth! What a beautiful character study and meditation on love and death and mystery! What a perfect name for your Puck! Your story reminds me of my childhood dog, Fritzie. I got pick of his litter, but didn't choose him. He was the runt. I chose his flashier, friendlier brother. That one escaped from our house and got hit by a car in mere months; Fritzie was the only left by then, and my parents' friends brought him to me. He outlived my childhood, with a similar long decline. One day he disappeared, and my mother went to the woods at the end of the block and found him under a bush. She brought him home. A few days later, he disappeared again--for good, this time. We like to think he got a good dog's death, one, as you say, on his terms.
Ah, Fritzie. There's something about the ones that leave the grand finale to our imagination, as if to suggest they could have just wandered into a new existence without any detour at all. Thanks for sharing that story, Rita.
As for Puck, it didn't occur to me until we were already deeply committed, that we called our next boy cat Tucker. Though different in so many ways, the two were similar in their mischief making. It was helpful to have a built in cover for my tendency toward a particular expletive in the face of their devil-may-care attitudes. "Puck...! I said Puck!" 😅
😂
Such a nice story. I have loved and cared for many feral cats over the years and they each have their own personalities.
Thank you for your comment and for your work, Melinda. The world needs more folks like you.
Oh my.... So very meaningful and so very moving.... What stood out to me was what was revealed in the beginning... that these were feral cats...outcasts...wild and unwanted... Can't help but parallel human life somewhat.... It's amazing the love you and Jim received and the lessons you were taught and shown and the blessings you gave to the rest of us from "the least of these"....
Love that observation, Barry. I'm sure we received far more than we gave, but it was good, while it lasted, to be in a reciprocal relationship with the shared blessings.
Thank you for reading and commenting, as always, my friend.
Such a tender story that acknowledges acceptance of sentient beings regardless of species.
I believe this so deeply, Mermaid. In fact, it troubles me when I hear humans making assessments about the intelligence, or lack of it, in plant and animal species. As if we really know! Thank you so much for being part of Chicken Scratch.
I love seeing these old pictures of your life. Our pets bring so much to our hearts. We call our hound dog Ella the “drama queen therapy dog.” Somehow she always knows when you need support.
Love that moniker, Teresa! Ella must be very special.
I love having you here, and always appreciate your observations. Thank you.
Sigh. Oh Puck. Beautifully written. Death is such a scary boundary. We rail against it, but it is more determined. So we can only choose our attitude to it instead. I suspect acceptance of our own death might be easier than facing those around us, but only time will tell. Thanks for such a heartfelt story. Sending heaps of hugs and best wishes.
A wise comment, Beth. It's easier to consider death and dying when it's not my own or my beloveds departures I'm thinking about. I hope it's helping me prepare all the same.
So grateful for your presence here. Thank you.
Elizabeth, your stories somehow bring such a clarity to life. ❤️
I'm honored, Cleo. Thank you for saying so, and for spending some time here today.
Such languages we learn to understand, right? I did laugh at the bath moment behind closed doors. But I must say, I got chills head to toe when you found Puck in the loft with you on the day Cobweb died. Such a connection... and such understanding. That he was able to convey his wishes in the end is so heartbreaking and yet wonderful. On one's own terms, when possible, seems like always the best approach.
We've laughed about the bath story at many a family meal across the years, Amy. Thankfully, no humans, nor cats, were harmed in the making of that mistake! 😅
I'll admit that I wouldn't have predicted the depth of connection with Puck toward the end. He'd been such an independent soul that I think I'd never looked for anything that profound to reveal itself. Thank you for sharing the magic of it with me!
Death is not an easy thing to master, so we should definitely take help in any unexpected form.
What a surprising and perfect comparison.
The younger you photos are gorgeous, Elizabeth! ~J
Taking help in any unexpected form -- I'm in sponge mode!
I appreciate knowing who among us is on board with continued conversations on such a tough subject. Thanks Janice. As for the younger me/us... I suppose we've had equal measures of years and tears since our hair has gone equally silver. :)
Beautiful telling.
Dear Puck - what stature, what presence. The story raised a lump in my throat and the thing I really appreciated was that message “My terms,” … “I’ll do this on my terms.” It’s a strange thing with animals, isn't it, that they prefer to die in peace and in their own way? I am in awe of Puck’s strength of will. What an amazing cat.
I love your choice of the word presence; it was just that, yes. In my experience, grief after death is a little easier when the dying have been able to make their wishes so clearly known. So, I count that among the blessings he gave us. Thanks, Prue!
I ♥️ Puck and his “my way or everybody’s getting scratched” attitude. Here’s to never cleaning your ears!
Okay this is totally TMI, but I actually LOVE cleaning my ears. That said, I would not have wanted Puck to do it, and I'm glad I didn't have to do his. 🤣
I think you and Puck of you would be well matched in the spunk department! Appreciate you being here, Eileen.
I love cleaning my ears too. True confessions!
Beautiful! And yes to leaving on their/our own terms. I grew up on a dairy farm and the dogs and cats were my best friends. True to their nature, they would often wander away to be alone at the end. A number of years ago my husband and I had adopted a sweet dog from the Humane Society. We had her for 15+ years, and when the end was very clearly near, we took her there to be lovingly escorted to the beyond. She had not been able to walk the previous evening, but when I pulled the car up near the house door to carry her, she stood and walked. The same happened when we had reached the building, she walked down the same hallway she had all those years ago and entered the room and walked straight to the blanket on the floor prepared for her. I never felt more at peace and sure we had done it ‘right”.
What a touching and beautiful story, Nancy. Thank you so much for sharing that here. Clarity is an incredible gift, isn't it?