Commentary
A Tribute
to Dusty, a Favorite Cat
copyright
© 2005 by Mike Colclough, all rights reserved.
June 10, 2005
If
a picture is worth a thousand words, and a pet can teach us valuable
things, then a photo of a pet can be a gold mine of wisdom.
Tonight I looked at one of the first frame worthy photos I ever took.
It was from summer of 1992, just after my high school prom. The subject
was Dusty, a fluffy gray kitten with wide eyes of wonder exploring tall
grass.
While looking at the photo, I recalled the cold nights he slept on my
bed, and I was glad for the added warmth he offered. I recalled how
he'd been partially raised by a golden retriever, and the resulting
crazy and doglike things he did. Many times, he presented himself so
much like a person that we wondered if he could understand our words.
I also remembered the times following my college graduation when I was
too busy with work to return the phone messages of friends, and didn't
have time to respond Dusty's needs or affection, either. When those
times became too frequent for my liking I decided to make more time
for friends and family, starting (practicing?) with the cat.
Occasionally I forced myself to take a breather from whatever I was
doing and just lie down on the floor to pet him. I'd heard somewhere
that petting a cat or dog reduces blood pressure and releases anti-stress
hormones. Those time-outs took away some of my stress. It reminded me
that I should make the same kind of time for the people in my life.
The photo of Dusty reminds me how quickly those people can all be gone--how
fast life goes by. Since the day I took it, many of those I'd seen at
the prom have gone to far-off places to become parents, yet the prom
seems like it was yesterday. When I visit home I see most of the neighbors
we grew up with have all retired and moved away, or else passed away.
Two days ago, so did Dusty. He'd been sick a few times since September,
but always recovered with the vet's help. Finally, he got sick so quickly
that he left home to look for a place to die. Mom and Dad searched the
neighborhood and found him. He had already passed on. It was hard to
know that he had been alone, because we cared.
He had been affectionate towards us, too. At other times we'd seen his
expression of disgust, and put words in his mouth like, "stupid
human." He would sit with his back to us when our behavior was
disagreeable to him. It made me imagine God as a cat: Seeing the things
I do, turning the other way and muttering, "Stupid human,"
but always returning affectionately.
Dusty made me consider how we let loved ones pass away alone. How we
let friendships fade. How we let those around us go hungry. We say it's
because we're busy, but often we're just caught up in our own lives--caught
up in ourselves.
We're not supposed to be that way. We're meant to be like the wide-eyed
kitten, fascinated with the tall grass, a child in wonder of all that
surrounds us, a friend to everyone because we haven't yet heard the
world tell us to do anything else.
But we can always stop listening to the world. We can live instead.
Dusty had lived with such vigor that he'd chased a fisher--a predator
to him--up a tree a month before he died. The vet had said she never
expected to see him alive again after he first got sick in September.
Without remembering that photo I'd taken, Mom and Dad buried Dusty in
the same location where I'd shot it. Dad wrote him an epitaph: "Home
is the hunter, home from the kill. He rests eternally beneath the hill."
The wide-eyed kitten had come full-circle. So will the rest of us.
I'm thankful for all that I learned through Dusty. This morning I awoke
to a dream that he was healthier than I'd ever seen him, the size of
a mountain lion, and resting contentedly on the highest part of the
couch he'd always used as a bed. It was as though he was reminding me
of the resolutions he'd helped me begin.
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Copyright
© 2005 by Mike Colclough, all rights reserved.
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