"He died a few days before Christmas. He was born in the basement of the Roxmor Inn with a brood of about ten others--June of 1993. We brought home Tony and his sister Cleo to live with us. Get it? Anthony and Cleopatra."
Tony in his Dying
Though he was approaching 18 years,
We still thought of him as our baby.
Finally we admitted to each other,
That he was dying.
The pills and bromides we crushed and
Sprinkled into his food seemed to help him,
But eventually they ran their course.
He weakened and lost more weight.
He was unsteady on his pins,
When just this past summer
He strutted confidently.
Besides the pills and eye drops,
For his right eye was troubled too,
There were the saline solution infusions that Jeanne administered.
Warm the bag of salt water,
Attach it to the high post of the poster bed,
Carry Tony up to the bed,
Place and hold him firmly in a supine position,
Take a handful of back skin up in a grip,
And place the needle subcutaneously.
As the hydration progresses,
Both the nurse and her assistant kiss his head,
And promise him tuna fish when the imposition is over.
In his youth, Tony would follow me through the back woods,
As a Maine Coon cat will.
Occasionally I would lift him up on my shoulders,
For that was what he wanted.
He would wrap his considerable self around my neck as we walked,
In order to get a better view of his territory.
He would purr like a buzz saw.
We would talk to each other in a language you do not know.
Now, in his diminished state,
I lifted him onto my chest, and held him in my arms,
As we took a slow last walk around and about his ground.
He purred soto voce as we inspected the snow covered valley,
And the slanting winter shadows.
We stared at the rippling black waters of our meandering stream,
And listened to the skree skree skree,
Of the resident red tail hawk.
The sun was lemon yellow,
Warming us with the hope of a coming spring.
We are loath to give him up, but we know we must.
We put him in the biggest carrier to make him comfortable,
The one with the oversize tiger beach towel,
And cradle him into the car, saying all along, what a good boy he is.
Kindness and light at the end of the tunnel.
We say our goodby’s in room number 3,
Crying as we hold him.
We hold him and stroke him,
Even as the hint of a low sweet purr answers.
His favorite doctor talks to him and says she’s so sorry,
As she deftly plies the final needle.
Oh, Tony—the best of companions.
Bo
RIP Tony 1993-2010
