Bonds are the brackets that button up our broken bits. Sometimes it feels like we choose the critters we let into our worlds. Other serendipities of the most special communion appear to have been struck through an unwritten cosmic contract with none other than spirit itself. They typically enter through a singular person’s portal of “ahh-ha, there you are for me!” All the while, a setup for sparking sentimentality sweetness amongst an owner’s community of humans onward to all sorts of strangers equally. As well, bearing boots of blessed skills for grazing conversations, silken to scruffy snuggles, frisky semantics, or shaving sadness with their mere gaze. Yet, rewards ripped too soon from our grip can leave gaping holes testing our resolve to recollect the light. You may have been called to fade, but never forgotten is where you’ll remain.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell. ~Naomi Shihab Nye, The Rider
There have long been cats, even if their ancestors weren’t quite that. However, there will only ever be one noble Remy meow-meow in my universe. Although, in researching legs for this story, I stumbled onto a cute Harvard ‘celebrity’ cat of the same name. Both known for a fair infiltration of showboating around town, I resoundingly believe these felines famously amounted to the healing truth of their name. Excessively fond of the outdoors, blades of grass, birds, and especially kids at play, ‘my’ Remy’s parents pridefully nurtured his affairs outdoors to in. I remember his brother Bubbuz with similar hauntingly handsome eyes. Playboys of the loveliest realm. They tucked tons of people, with noteworthy nod to budding long-term romances that bloomed to marriage and eventually teething toddlers, beneath their captivating courtship with society.
I think God’s completely aware when certain beings require a tad extra on their current Earthly karmic agenda. For each personal rescue, Remy provided any one of us he must have used up a wee beyond his nine lives. I suppose this goes until the date you’re suddenly summoned to stop. I simply wish we got to craft all of our endings. Since, the Remy kitty I knew recently met his fate with the other side of destiny. The hungry coyotes of Los Angeles seem to have become increasingly bold during the latter years of my SoCal reign. My bestie Joanna rang me late eve to explain an incredulous pack of five that robbed us of beloved Remy, as she wounded-warrior-woman gallantly chased them in her car up the street after hearing his final cry. We can whet our complications with calls that fall as kisses tickling our ears in the heat of near-midnight madnesses.
The mystical divinity of unashamed felinity
Round the cathedral rang “Vivat!”
Life to the everlasting cat! ~Trevor Nunn / Richard Stilgoe, Andrew Lloyd Weber’s CATS, Jellicle Songs For Jellicle Cats, based on T. S. Eliot’s book Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats
Primitively articulating, fractured halves are mingled back into a sole holy spectacle when we seek the union of shared connectivity about catastrophe. His ‘Fuzzy Prince’ nom de plume said everything anyone really ought to be charmed about related to his nature. Remy stole the heart of more than me alone. He was by far one of the distinguished lovers in my lifespan. Anyone who truly knows me comprehends the immense standout of this statement. Remy always came to greet me regardless of the hour of my entrance compared to his napping, adventuring, or the appetite he was eager to satiate. I’ll miss bunches about him. Notably, the purrrrrrrfect cuddle moments of making him sing loudly. He was one of the kind of animal you want for family and deep into any darkness of the wilds (emotionally, locally, or else) you’re having to negotiate. That Remy was a beast of gratitude barely taps into his justice.
Stealing from the furry playbook is purely one stellar way I’ve come to find peace amongst the mania of any chosen kink of chaos. Within the luxury of lounging that a feline to woofer or whatever fuzzy friend you shall consider that you’ve ever known is the understanding for the quality of an ongoing respite recovery program. There are passing pets and then there are soul keepers who are gonna follow you through aeons of reincarnated escapades. Death rarely arrives on time. Our intended schedules are an eternally hot debate. When it’s early and that pulse is part of our cadence it’s a throbbing theft besides the lingering photos and fluffy verbiage. I had to let this writing marinate a big ol’ portly blob before I could cradle words as sentences into a semblance of meaning that might make sense for me unto you. Straddling loss and tribute together in tandem is just one of the many dualisms that life lobs.
May we continue to marvel over the magic of meeting our dearly departed across the Rainbow Bridge.