poor little kitty
This afternoon I buried Stimpy, my beloved pet and friend of 11 years, at her favourite spot in my Dad’s garden. She led a very happy life and was loved by everyone.
Stimpy has lived with me since March 1993, when she was 5 weeks old. Being so young, I think, she imprinted on me as her ‘mother’ and has loved me as such ever since. I tried to fulfill my duties in this role as best I could being provider, protector and friend. She has reciprocated: Stimpy has been by my side through thick and thin, in darker hours she has seemed to be my only friend. She could always sense when I was down and was then especially affectionate, helping me to feel better.
Stimpy was a smart cat, she knew several words and obeyed a few commands. She knew ‘sit‘, ‘out‘ (of a room/area), ‘outside‘, ‘no‘, ‘inside‘, ‘jump‘ (off my lap), ‘comeonup‘ (jump onto my lap), ‘carm-on‘ (dinner time), ‘bad kitty‘, ‘yougettit‘ (attack something pointed to eg. cockroach) and ‘good kitty‘. Of course, she knew her name as well: after the dinner call it was the most powerful word. Of all these commands, only two would provoke a negative reaction: ‘outside‘ and ‘jump‘, both of which would elicit low growls and would have to be repeated before she grudgingly obeyed, still growling. During Stimpy’s formative years I was a uni student studying psychology, and practised my new knowledge on her, which probably explains her expansive repertoire.
Shopping bags were the subject of a strong attraction for Stimpy. In particular, licking them. As a kitten she used to climb inside the bags to lick the plastic. I tried to discourage this behaviour by picking up the bag and hanging it on a door handle, with her still inside. This did not deter her, probably the opposite – the door would act as a large sounding board, broadcasting her already-loud purring throughout the apartment. As we get older our tastes change, and so it was for Stimpy. In the last few years she has preferred to lick the outside of the bag, whilst the shopping is still in it.
Stimpy’s four favourite things were food, sleep, warm and pats. Of these food was probably her favourite, and prawns were her favourite food. The first time that we moved house I helped the transition by placing prawns through the yard for her to discover. She liked that house, prawns grew in the yard. Many people will not understand, but after prawns Stimpy’s favourite food was cucumber. Next on the list was fresh fish, followed by lettuce (it’s true), corn and meat. Stimpy loved 2 minute noodles, but hated salmon in every form.
I think that in Stimpy’s heaven she will lie on something warm, at the highest point in the room. She will be asleep and I will be patting her. On occasion she will wake to catch some live prawns from the bowl in front of her. Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she will see small lizards dashing past.
I will miss my Stimpy cat. I already do.
I miss her. She was a kittycat like no other; certainly I’ve never seen a cat so obedient. She really loved you and particularly the cradle pats you used to give her. There will always be fond memories of Stimpycat.
Gosh. I stumbled upon this page while searching for a particular Ren and Stimpy transcript…
I was really moved to read this.
A coincidence – we buried our furry pals at about the same time. I couldn’t write much about it in my weblog because I was so sad and crying, and thinking how absurd to be so sad about an animal in a world of so much human grief.
I guess you were also very sad as you started this piece, as though words can account for the depth of friendship that happens with pets. And writing it like it will be the summary, the durable record of your cat in cyberspace. It’s very awkward. You did well.
Your description of the good things and the funny things is really lovely. That’s also what I think about.
So we’re probably both getting on with things, the first of which is getting accustomed to different sounds in the house. Those initial hours, catless, the house sounds so spooky and hollow.
Next, you have to put away all the things that are reminding you why your heart feels heavy. Whatever wasn’t buried with the cat has to find fitting disposal or careful gift.
And then the things you do at certain times of day or week start to break down. Like going to a particular stall at the market for cat’s favorite food, or racing home in between important grown-up things to feed the stupid cat. Or leaving a window open even on cold nights so the cat can scare you jumping onto bed at dawn or whenever it pleases. And finally, you can disappear for a weekend and think nothing of it.
Our cat, Supercat, was only 6. Some kind of illness came on suddenly. Like your cat, Supercat had a good life. Ate kangaroo instead of prawns. Had a mild fascination with plastic bags, more with boxes, although bubble wrap got him really excited. Had an uncanny sense of who was trustworthy and good among our friends and acquaintances. Probably all animals have this sense if we just notice it. Supercat brought us alot of joy and taught us alot of things. Probably achieved everything on his list to do and teach us, as we unravel it and remember the good things.
Now the house is being over-run with mice, and the garden with strange cats. I’m trying to invite the other cats in to deal with the mice that manage to evade all traps.
There’s just one thing I cannot resolve. Here are two Supercat pawprints on my desk. I desperately want to clean my desk. I moved to another desk for awhile. The pawprints are getting faint and the desk is overall pretty dusty and so on. But I can’t bring myself to wipe off these pawprints. Not sure how long this will go on for.
You are fortunate to bury your cat in a safe place. We rent, and live a long way from family. We buried our cat beneath the gum tree in the garden where he liked to hang out. We got the tree listed on a heritage list last year, but now we have to fight the owner formally to halt plans for subdivision townhouse with underground carpark, that might disturb the little grave.
Did I write all that? Ah, cats.