Not only did he and the cat share a special bond. Mr. P. also was a care-giver in Alexander's last days of life. The Grey was fifteen years of age: that's a long time for a cat on this green earth. Upon reading Mr. P.'s blog, I now wish that I knew Alexander for myself. That I could have stories to tell about him from my own memory and heart. He was that great of a creature!
As I was laughing and crying over Alexander's story, my own cat, Chicken Bone, came to visit me and find out, what all this emotional upheaval that he sensed, was about. He jumped on my chest (I almost can hear his triumphant thoughts: "I conquered this hill!" every time he does that) and lay down in my arms. This is what he came for this time: not to beg for food or complain about something out of order in the house. He was looking for the warmth of companionship. I wiped my eyes on his fur and tried to continue with the story on computer's screen.
It proved to be very difficult to do with a cat in my arms. Every time I tried to scroll the page down, Chickie (that's his nickname) turned his head and put his warm, moist muzzle into my hand and asked to scratch under his chin. He, himself, is eleven years old already, but he still behaves like a child most of the time.
This reminded me what Mr. P. said to me yesterday in regards to a mother-son relationship: "He is not your child anymore. He is a grown up. He is your SON, but not a child anymore!" That gave me a lot to think about then, but now I thought: "Do we need to watch our boundaries with animals? It's OK that we let them act like small children if they wish to do so, right?
Chicken Bone and Sylvie, my other cat, are not, and I hope they'll forgive my expression, spring chickens anymore! Yet Chickie still begs for food forgetting all dignity and chases his tail and poor Sylvie, and she throws tantrums every time someone brushes by close to her or when I talk to a human while petting her. The other night she was lying down by my side with her front paw on my knee (I allow her this familiarity). When I needed to get up, she mewled and stuck her claws into my leg! I, of course, immediately threw her off me and scolded her, but I have no doubt that that made a very little impression.
But back to Alexander the Grey. He hung on to life for a long time, even though his back legs couldn't carry him anymore and he had to wear a feline diaper. What a reverence for life his human displayed! I always feel that euthanising animals is a strange and questionable practice, since no animal would willingly end their life. They fight to be alive, like the Grey did.It might seem strange to you that I put so much stock into the animals' ability to feel and think. After having a few pets of my own, I have no doubt that they are capable of deep emotions and are very clever. Sylvie always reads the moods and situations correctly. She, for example, distrusts Park immensely, right from the start, when we all thought that he was a great guy. She stares at him intensely when he is in close proximity to her. He is afraid to look into her eyes, thinking that she is evil, but I know that she is just scared of him.
That's Hanah's drawing.
What great humans most animals would make! The loyalty, the companionship, the innocence and playfulness - wouldn't you like to have these qualities in your friends? I would!