Farewell, CK

Nine years ago, when living in New York, we were experiencing heavy rain and flooding in the area. We heard about spring kittens turning up and in need of adoption. We were too late. By the time we called the number in the paper, they’d been snatched up. But during our fury of phone calls,  our vet told us they had a kitten in need of adoption. By the time we got there, that cat was gone. Well, she said, we do have this one cat who was abandoned by her owner over a year ago.

They brought out a cat carrier and a tiny cat cowered in the corner. She would not come out of the carrier. We couldn’t even touch her. “Is she a kitten?” Nope, just a runt. She was six pounds, wide-eyed and wanted nothing to do with us.

Dave said, “Well that’s too bad.”

“What do you mean,” I asked? “We have to take her, she’s lived at the vet for a  year. She needs a home”

As we completed the paperwork we were told they referred to her as Crazy Cat – she was impossible to catch and “would never be the kind of cat you could pick up.” So we named her CK – crazy kitty – and took her home.

Our oldest cat, Matisse, was not happy about this addition. CK hid behind the TV stand all evening. The next morning, I walked into the living room with my cup of coffee, sat down on the couch and curled up my legs. I saw a tiny little cat head pop out from under the coffee table. CK put her paw up toward me (it always looked like she was trying to shake our hand, we’d say “CK is selling insurance again.”) and crawled up on my lap and purred. For nine years we actually never really could pick her up. But once we sat down, she was on us like glue.

She and Matisse learned to tolerate one another (and bonded like mad when ornery Ernie joined our family).

CK was my little shadow.

When I would get home from work the routine was this: put on lounge-wear, grab a glass of wine, place a pillow on the coffee table, stretch my legs out on the pillow, and wait…within seconds CK would come bounding down the stairs and run directly to my legs. She was always on me.

At night, I had to sleep on my side, pulling one leg up toward my chest so CK could settle into the back of my knee. Over the last year or so she had moved toward my head, some nights sleeping across my neck.

Sunday I returned from a weekend away and that afternoon took a long nap with CK on my head (seriously) and Ernie nestled between my back and the back of the couch. Oliver was napping with Dave (his human of choice).

Monday after work the house was quiet. This is the magical sleepy time for the cats. But at 6 pm we can always count on them running into the kitchen for dinner. CK didn’t run down (and she’s always first in line). I went upstairs and found her under the bed, clearly in pain and mostly unable to move.

I couldn’t reach her.

And remember, this is a cat who doesn’t want to be picked up.

I started breathing heavy, getting agitated because clearly something was wrong. She shimmied on her belly over to the side of the bed. I picked her up and she yelled. Oh, did I mention that CK was not a meower? A silent girl, on rare occasions she would “meep” and we would exclaim, “CK made a meow!”  She was vocal Monday evening. In pain. I rushed her to the veterinary ER and Dave met me there. She was in critical condition. They identified a huge mass in (or near) her belly. Her vitals were crashing because of internal hemorrhaging.

Completely unexpectedly, we had to say good-bye to CK.

Today is an anniversary of sorts. Twelve years ago today I received the Gohonzon, the object of devotion placed over the altar in our Buddhist home. One of CK’s favorite things to do in the morning, and one of my favorite things to experience, was climbing onto my lap when I sat at the altar to chant.

This morning I shall chant in tears.

Farewell, CK.

Tags: catsCK

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