Tribute to and Lessons Learned from a Cat

Beau was over twelve years old and had lived with us for six and a half years when he died last Friday.  His life and death have touched both Nora and me deeply.  He was a member of our family and will be deeply missed.  Beau was a very special cat, and had earned his place in our family many times over with his perseverance, his devotion, and his love. 

Beau was born in the spring of 1988 and had a fairly normal upbringing for the first three years of his life with his mother and sister.  His name at the time was Stripes and he had two children who loved to play with him and his sister and dress them up in doll clothes.  His family liked dogs also, and brought a Doberman puppy into the family thinking that the puppy would accept the cats as he grew up with them.  This proved not to be the case, with the Doberman biting off/deforming much of Beau’s left ear and ultimately killing his sister.  By age four and a half, Beau had had enough of the Doberman, and chose to move out on his own.

Much of 1993 found Beau living in the woods, providing for his own needs, but spending the roughest nights on various neighbor’s front porches, occasionally even getting a meal and perhaps some affection.  Being the neighborhood stray wasn’t much of a life, but it was better than the certain death he would have suffered in the mouth of the Doberman at home.

Beau had experienced love and affection early in his life, and he somehow knew that he could and would find it again. As his roaming expanded, he discovered our deck in January of 1994.  It provided a safe haven and protection from other animals (dogs can’t fit through the slats on the deck), and it offered another opportunity to find a safe, loving home.  Now all he had to do was shower us with his love so that we would adopt him.

Nora and I had had cats before, but that had been ten years earlier, and with none of the children at home anymore we were really enjoying each other and the freedom we now had.  We both had agreed that there would be no more pets, at least during this time in our lives.

He was an attractive healthy looking cat that we just knew belonged to one of our neighbors.  We just couldn’t figure out why he spent so much time on our deck.  Not just that, but if one of us were outside, he would immediately come running and shower us with affection, often standing on his hind legs trying to reach our hands and perhaps receive a friendly stroke or two.  He soon picked up on my work schedule, and would be waiting for me at the end of the driveway when I came home, then trot up the driveway leading me to the garage, and again shower me with his prevenient grace.  Both Nora and I would occasionally respond to his appeals for affection, but we would neither let him in the house nor would we feed him.  We did not want a cat, and again we just knew he must belong to one of our neighbors.

The first two lessons I learned from Beau were perseverance and the power of love.  Nora and I both resisted Beau’s plea for a new home for close to a month, but Beau would not give up.  Our barriers to him eventually slowly began to crumble as we began to occasionally give him tidbits of food and finally to let him in for brief visits.  Beau responded with even more love and affection.  He showed me that the power of love could overcome any obstacle especially when coupled with perseverance.  He truly gave us his heart and won ours back in return.  By the middle of February he had found the home that would give him the love and security that he not only wanted and needed, but that he truly deserved.

Nora first named him Belle, for we thought that he was a female cat at first.  It was not until we took “her” in to the vet to be neutered and get “her” shots, that we found that “she” was an already neutered “he”.  (We were told that this is a not so uncommon occurrence). The name was quickly changed to Beau and we were then able to find whom his previous owners had been since no one had been missing a female cat with a cauliflower ear.  They were quite happy to find that Beau had found a new loving family and home.  Although they live only 200 feet from us, Beau never returned there for so much as a visit, and they never came over to visit him.

During the entire six and a half years Beau lived with us, he never lost the perspective that he was a guest in our house.  He never got up on any table or counter, and with rare exception would not get in any chairs or couch without permission.  He did finally teach us that a folded up sheet or blanket on a chair meant that he would assume it ok to use without first asking.  In fact he frequently asked for permission to eat and would often not eat until we walked over to his food dish with him.  (We have always wondered if he had been attacked by the Doberman while eating, and that this was a security issue for him.)  Although the house was ours, the deck was his, and he spent much of his time there or in the flowers or woods out back.  He insisted on using the outdoors as his bathroom; we were never able to train him to a litter box.

There were too many mutual means of grace between Beau and us to list, but there is one that I would be remiss if I did not share.  Whenever I felt that he deserved a special treat (which was most often daily), I would use the phrase “nibble nibble nibble”.  He always knew what that meant, and no matter where he was, or what he was doing, he would always come, anxiously anticipating the treat he was about to receive.  If I were a bit slow in getting his treats after saying the magic words, he would practically drown me with his saliva of anticipation (Pavlov would have been proud!).  Although we shared this magic means of grace with others, we made sure that they knew that this was never to be used in teasing; that this represented the complete and total trust he could place in us.  We kept his treats easily within his reach, but he never offered to help himself on his own.  We feel that he also was showing us that we could place complete trust in him as well.  Beau was just that way.

Probably the toughest lesson that he has reminded me of is that death is a natural part of life on this earth.  He was here one minute, and tragically gone the next, accidentally run over by our car.  It could just as readily have been the severe injuries he received several years ago after an encounter with some wild animal in the woods, or the urinary track blockage he had suffered a few years ago.  He could have drowned either of the two times he fell into the pool, or he could just as readily not have recovered from the stomach surgery he had had three weeks before his death.  It could have been cancer, or a heart attack, or a stroke next week, next year, or five years from now.  But the point is that death is a given part of living and will surely touch us all.

I think that the most important lesson is that we must not take anything for granted, and must share our witness and love today as if there is no tomorrow.  We have always given Beau quality time in our lives, and he has always given us quality time as well.  But mortality, both his and mine, was brought into focus with his stomach surgery three weeks before his death.  He had developed pyloric stenosis, and would throw up most meals within two hours of eating.  There were no guarantees that the problem could be fixed, or until surgery, that it wasn’t cancer.  But he was losing weight, couldn’t hold down food, and had to have something done. The surgery did go well and he was recovering extremely quickly.  He was holding down his meals, had gained back his weight, and in fact had resumed his hunting in the woods, bringing us a small rat as a token offering of his love and trust.  But we had been making sure that he was receiving extra love and attention, loving him as if he might not be with us the next day.  How ironic, for unfortunately that’s exactly what ultimately happened, just not in the way we expected.

His last days and nights were typical of his life with us.  If either of us were in the yard or on the deck, he was there.  I had grown to consider him as my lifeguard since he would find a shady spot on the deck to supervise me while I swam or cleaned the pool.  Nora taught him much about gardening, but again he preferred the supervisory role, tucked in the shade of Nora’s cart or one of the roses.  He came in after supper his last night, and after his “nibble nibble nibbles” he curled up in my lap for some serious head rubbing and a full body massage, followed by a nap.  I found this time very relaxing and often read a devotional or magazine, watched TV, or just napped along with him (this is what I did his last evening).  He went back outside about 9:30 as usual.  Friday morning, I woke up early (about 4:30) and went downstairs.  I heard the familiar pawing at the door, and let him in for his early breakfast.  In a few minutes, he came into the den, and hopped up on the couch with me and proceeded to go back to sleep against my leg and side (again after some brief head rubbing and another body massage).  I left him napping on the couch as I got up, ate, and went to Reunion Group.  Sometimes he would spend the mornings in the house, sometimes outside.  He chose this to be an outside day, and Nora had let him out before I returned from Reunion Group.  He came in again for a few more times for brief snacks of his food and a hair brushing, then returned to his yard for the last time.

There is another lesson to be learned in the pain and grief of Beau’s death.  Why does it hurt so much?  In addition to reminding us of our own mortality, it hurts so much because of the depth of the love in the relationship. The deeper the love, the more the grief over the loss. We can avoid the hurt by avoiding the love, but then of what value is a relationship without love?  The joy of a deeply loving relationship is far greater and will go on long after the grief over the loss passes.

Again, Beau, even with his death, has reminded me to take nothing in this world for granted, for what is here today may truly not be here tomorrow.  In all relationships, be it with your children, your spouse, your friends or colleagues (or even your pet) share your love and care as if they, or you, may not get the chance tomorrow.  Nothing can ever remove the love both for and from Beau from my heart.  But he is now gone from this earth, and I must evaluate all of my other relationships.  Am I giving them the love, grace, and attention that they deserve today, or am I holding back for tomorrow?

These are only some of the lessons I have learned, or had reinforced by my six and a half year relationship with Beau, and I offer them as a tribute to him.