When I moved to Indiana, almost 15 years ago, I brought my schnauzer. His name was Sidney Bernstein. We moved in with my girlfriend, and her two cats, curious how the animals would get along. To our surprise, her cat Isobel, couldn't care less about the dog. The other cat, Marie, weirdly took to him.
We'd catch Sidney and Marie snuggled together for a nap in his bed, or sometimes they would sit next to one another, their hips touching, watching the squirrels outside. They became squirrel watching friends.
When Sidney got older, his last few weeks were a struggle, and Marie didn't come near him much. When he passed away, we wondered if she even noticed he was gone. Then one day we found her napping in his bed. A bed we had not gotten the courage to put away just yet. It looked like she missed him after all.
Years later, Marie was older, diabetic, and having health issues. Her kidneys were shutting down. We made the impossible decision to let her go. We were at the emergency clinic when she passed. We wanted to have our vet cremate her, since they had taken such great care of her, her whole life, but it was the weekend, so the emergency clinic agreed to hold her body until Monday.
On Monday I took off work and picked her up. She was in a little black duffle bag. I called my vet to let them know I was on my way. The woman who answered said they were having an emergency, and if it was okay, could I please come in about an hour? I said that was fine.
Not knowing what else to do, I decided to have a funeral procession for Marie. I started my car and turned on my headlights, like any good funeral motorcade would do. I found a radio station that was playing oldies, because Marie would have liked that.
All the years she knew me she had to put up with the random nicknames I gave her, like Queen sister, Marie Catoinette, and my favorite, Chonk. She also had to suffer through songs I would spontaneously make up about her, and then sing to her, which eventually drove her to leave the room, obviously overwhelmed in the joy I had brought into her life.
Like most women in my life, she had learned to tolerate me.
Before I headed out I unzipped her bag. She looked so beautiful. She was a white, short hair and she looked like she was having the most peaceful nap. I was openly weeping as I drove is out of that parking lot.
Marie's funeral procession took us all around South Bend and Mishawaka, everywhere that had played a part in my life since I'd moved here. Places she had never known, since she was an indoor cat who never left the house. I narrated our trip for her. Here's Lowe's, my first job when I moved here, this is the park I sometimes walked after work, here's where I like to get tater tots, that place is where Sidney used to get his haircut.
An hour later we arrived at the vet’s office. I sat in the parking lot, petting her soft fur. A Cat Stevens song played on the radio and the words seemed especially poignant. Oh, very young, what will you leave us this time...you're only dancing on this earth for a short while.
A new flood of tears as I zipped up her bag and carried her into the vet. Apparently a grown man, carrying his deceased cat while openly weeping, was a little too much for the always cheerful receptionist, and soon there were two of us in tears.
Even though Marie wasn't a loud cat, and mostly kept to herself, the house felt empty without her. Occasionally I would still call her name, or break into one of my amazing songs about her, before remembering she was gone.
Losing a pet will always feel like it's too much to handle. Every single time. Other days, I smile when I think that she is no longer in pain, sitting and watching squirrels, her hip touching another furry hip, of a dog who finally has his friend back.
Music: Cat Stevens - Oh Very Young
