Last week, we lay to rest an extraordinarily important member of our family, Sweet Pea the Cat. She was sassy, gorgeous, affectionate, intelligent and with the tiniest bit of a mean-streak, in the most lady-like way. In other words, she fit into our family perfectly. And not only did she fit in, but we molded much of the last 2 decades of our lives around her and the throne we put her on. And though it may seem like cats are dropping at an alarming rate over here, the fact of the matter is the our younger youth just wants to keep reminding us that it is most definitely over. Bury your childhood pets, turn in the keys to your parents house, and grow up.
And while I may see phantom whisps of Pea’s little tail here and there, or hear her signature squawk in the wind, I’m done shedding tears over her. Because while it’s sad as hell, I have to laugh when I think of her. And what she must have thought of us. For example, what was she thinking when teenage-angst ridden me slammed the bedroom door, threw myself on the bed, and cried into her fur saying “Sweet Pea, you are the only one who really understands me!” Really, I actually said that. Out loud. To a cat. And I meant it. What was she thinking when my sister and I trapped her in the playroom with us and forced her to be the audience to our Disco Duck sing-a-long concerts? Or when my parents would put her on the phone with me after I left for Ann Arbor? She no doubt rolled her eyes, this cat had an attitude, but appeased us out of love. And out of obligation, she needed our opposable thumbs to open her cat food tins.
And while the sadness of Pea’s passing dulls a bit, we are left to ask: What will become of Potato now that she’s gone? Not known to be the most, ahem, intelligent of animals, this gentle 20-pound giant is now left with no mentor, no protector, no one to bitch-slap him when he gets out of line. Can’t you just see the confusion in his little ginger eyes? If anyone knows a good cat therapist, I’d love that number.