A Eulogy for the Pets Lost In Spring

Nicodemus

On April 5, 2011, Amy's cat, Nicodemus, passed away. He had been with her before we were married, and had a little trouble accepting me. He once tried to kill me by jumping off a dresser onto my chest while I slept. Eventually, thought, he accepted me. He was a great cat. Just the best animal ever. He was the one who taught me how cool cats could be. Nic was a stray who picked Amy to live with, and more or less wouldn't go away until he was accepted. He was the quintessential cat, and the one who I measure all others against. "This one isn't as good at hunting as Nic was," or "This one is more aloof than Nic."

Loki, Couch Warrior

 Loki was my cat. He was a goof, but a friendly goof. He was huge and cuddly. I got a sinus infection not long after we got him, as he was recuperating from being fixed. So he and I shared a quarantine for a bit, and whenever I was sick after that, he would always lay with me and comfort me. He would always come and greet me, wanting his ears scratched. He was the only one of the three cats alive when Teddy was born to come to accept this new little human in the house and to come up to him. He passed away in April, 2017.

Lincoln

Barkely and Lincoln, Teddy's Pals

My parents dog, Lincoln passed away last night. Linc was a great dog. He was gentle. A throwback Sheltie, he was big, but a sweet and loyal dog. He and his little brother, Barkely, were the first dogs that Teddy ever met, and the ones that he's always liked. Amy was the first person that Lincoln responded to in a positive way, and the first night we met him as a puppy, he and Amy sat and he let her, and only her, pet him for a couple of hours. I think he recognized a kindred spirit in her. Both sweet, gentle, and a little shy sometimes, but loyal and loving once they got to know and accept you.

Aristotle

 Aristotle is a cross eyed little spitfire. He fought cancer and kicked to the curb and has lived 5 years after, but he's fading. He's limping and not eating well. I am calling the vet tomorrow, but I don't think that he'll last to April. Once upon a time, this little kitten slept on my history books, hence the name. He would curl on the book shelves, or my mouse pad. He always makes me think of Lou Reed's Pale Blue Eyes. I'm the only human that he really tolerates. He sits on my lap in the evening, and demands attention, until he turns and bites my hand and hops down, because he is, after all, a cat. The bite isn't hard. It's more to let me know that he doesn't need that attention. He just puts up with it for my benefit. I'll miss him too.

St. Francis of Assisi once wrote "All the darkness of the world cannot extinguish a single candle." I don't know why it is that pets keep passing away in March and April. I will miss all of these animals, as all of them have been candles in my life. They have all taught me how to be more caring, more compassionate. They have taught me how to care for someone who needs me to do so and who cannot always tell me how. They have brought me joy and comfort when I have needed it, and I am grateful to them for that. I can accept the pain of their loss in exchange for the solace I have found in their presence. And even though their candles are dimmed by their loss, the world is still brighter for them having been there at all.

On Joy and Sorrow

Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.