I’m afraid my family experienced another heartbreak yesterday. It is with enormous grief that I announce the passing of our most beloved Chowder. He had been okay the night before, but I woke up to him already unwell.
I don’t want to rehash all the ways he had manifested illness, as it pains me to do so. He did – that smart boy – walk up to me in the kitchen to quietly lie down at my feet, which clued me in to the gravity of his condition. I tried to comfort him with rubs and pets, but he wasn’t responsive.
Anyway, my daughter and I observed him for about an hour, and then it became clear that it was a very urgent situation, so we took him to the veterinary clinic across the street – in our pajamas. It’s really a blessing to have one so close.
We got to stay with Chowder as he fought. We were able to stroke him, tell him how much we loved him, and let him feel our presence until he finally let go. By noon, he was gone. It all happened so fast. We certainly didn’t wake up expecting to lose a cherished pet.
My daughter and I have been besieged with weeping. We cried all day and through the night. The tears are never far away as we see all of the spots that Chowder frequented in our home. We still expect to see him. I know it will be a while before our senses finally accept that he’s gone.
This won’t stop us from missing him. Even after four years, we still very much feel the loss of our cat, Onyx. He’s Chowder’s uncle, although they never got to meet. I like to think that wherever departed animals go, Onyx will welcome Chowder, and they can bond over the humans who had adored them both. I’m an evangelical Christian, so while I like the idea of the rainbow bridge, I believe the concept is merely a coping mechanism for grieving pet owners. I do, however, believe in God’s goodness as well as in his care for animals. I’m just going to entrust their fate in His wise and loving nature.
I do indulge in a touch of whimsy, though. This morning, when I went out to water the plants, I found a small frog resting on the loops of barbed wire we had strung on top of the perimeter wall, which I think is ugly, so I’ve been growing assorted butterfly pea plants there to cover them up. It was an unusual place to find one so high up. Anyway, I thought it was a dry leaf at first, but realized it was a frog upon closer inspection. I felt like it was a gift from God and Chowder. It really cheered me up.
We’re getting Chowder’s remains aquamated. In no way are we prepared to say goodbye. He was Morgan’s baby, the second youngest in our clowder of eight. I suppose we have to get used to saying seven now.
I’m incredibly thankful for the privilege of loving and caring for Chowder. He arrived on this earth on May 30, 2023. He wasn’t even three years old yet. Despite his relatively short life, he was able to bring joy, love, entertainment, beauty… all good things – to our lives.
We hadn’t meant to keep him. At the time he was born, we were saying that six was our limit (we had originally said three, but we lied). Chowder had a twin, and he got adopted by friends of ours. Chowder had a potential adopter, too, but they were wishy-washy, so we decided to dismiss their interest.
Instead of searching for new prospects, my daughter decided to name him. That’s a no-no for us with kittens we wanted to rehome. Sure enough, the curse or charm of the act netted us a seventh cat. If you’re wondering how Marguerite came up with Chowder, we were eating at S&R one time, and she commented that the clam chowder was the same color as the kitten. What other logical next step was there but to name the kitten Chowder?
Chowder was our pretty boy. All our cats are beautiful, but his face with his wide, slanting eyes and pointy face held an innocent prettiness that’s hard to resist. A lynx-point Siamese (just based on looks, but his dam was Russian Blue, and his sire was a handsome, big gray tabby that belonged to our neighbor), he’s the tallest of our cats, a big galoot that never quite lost his kitten playfulness.
He was very chill unless he had the zoomies. He would let me carry him like a baby, but wouldn’t tolerate Marguerite’s impertinent trolling. One time, she was teasing him and, in his annoyance, he smacked her, claws retracted.
He was our model, the one who would patiently let us put costumes on him and pose him with props. He was always willing to play, never snootily ignoring a string, a feather, or a ball.
His best friend was his nephew Kindle (another one we hadn’t intended to keep). They were the babies of the clowder, even if Chowder was more than a year older. He played with the kitten, and they formed a bond that lasted even after Kindle turned a year old. They were both Mama’s boys (Kindle still is), clingy to their birth moms even as grown cats.
He loved being cozy and squeezing into tight cubbies. He never had accidents, never sprayed, and always buried his poop (the older toms sometimes forget their manners and choose to assert dominance by leaving their poop uncovered). He ate well, and found a way to always drink clean water from the tap (even if they do have filtered fountains). He seemed like a healthy boy, manifesting no issues until it was too late.
Chowder was a gentletom, a true gib. He was always pleasant to the ladies (both queens and mollies), and he was never pushy. He never bothered anybody who was eating, both feline and human. He had a mild temper and never attempted to menace other toms. He would hiss and adopt a jujitsu-like stance when provoked, but preferred to have the humans reinstate peace rather than brawl.
He was the goodest, beautifulest, and bestest kirty cat ever. He’ll always be missed and remembered. And just now, I was overwhelmed with sorrow about the thought of his Christmas stocking. Do I still put it up in December even though he’s gone? Onyx had already passed when I got stockings for the cats. I’ve been meaning to get one for him even though he never got the chance to enjoy it, and for Inky as well. He’s the stray cat that we’ve been feeding and kind of turned into a porch cat. What would you do?
Loving and caring for animals can be heartbreaking, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. As the trite refrain goes: it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Tennyson was a hundred percent right – when it comes to animals, at least. I think people may regret loving certain other people, but I can’t imagine ever being sorry for loving an animal. I may feel guilty about not having loved an animal as effusively as they all deserve to be loved, but I’ll never regret the choice to be their adoring hooman.
A secondhand bookshop, a plant nursery, and a pet supplies store.
This Small Life 