Burunche’s Blog

It’s 2:30 AM. Two weeks ago, I would have heard persistent mewing from our back verandah, where Mr. Cat, the ruler of our household, would have been insisting on being let into the house and fed early. But tonight there is only silence. At 4 PM yesterday, Mr. Cat crossed the rainbow bridge, leaving holes in our hearts bigger than he was. Now our household is haunted by memories of all Mr. Cat’s favorite resting places-the top of my dresser, the top of our microwave in the kitchen, the couches in our sitting room. Somehow, it feels as if he’s still with us, watching over us, protecting us. There’s a phrase describing the circumstances when the veil between heaven and earth is very faint-living in a thin place. When you work where we do, caring for the poor and the sick, that veil becomes extremely thin much of the time.

We think Mr. Cat joined our family as a small grey and white tabby kitten six years ago. We actually tried to give him other names; however, he demanded respect and wound up as Mr. Cat for his entire career with us. There were a few other names, Stink-a-roo-roo, shortened to Roo, and Gyata Ketewa. “Gyata Ketewa” is Twi for “little lion,” and the name fit for he had a lion’s heart in a kitty body. As the cat grew, he developed a distinct personality-there were times when he demanded attention and then there were times when he absolutely did not want it. Although I passionately love kitties, Mr. Cat chose my husband Bob as his person, sometimes driving Bob crazy in his insistence on lying at Bob’s feet, no matter where Bob was sitting or walking. We have huge collections of photos of Mr. Cat on Bob’s lap or stretched out on the bed next to Bob.

Mr. Cat was an intrepid hunter of rats, lizards, and the occasional bird. We fed him mashed up mackerel, and we are now tormenting ourselves with the possibility that we might have accidentally fed our beloved pet some bad mackerel that triggered kidney failure. We truly don’t know what happened; we only know that over the course of about two weeks, Mr. Cat went from being healthy to being unable to eat or drink and dying despite our best efforts.

When talking about cats, it is difficult to say whether you own them or they own you. Generally, cats are the owners, and we are only servants. We fed Mr. Cat his mackerel religiously twice a day and also supplied kulikuli for him. Kulikuli is a local snack food made of groundnut paste mixed with flour and deep fried; it’s crunchy and nutritious. We also kept water bowls in several different places so the cat had plenty of access to clean water.

Watching Mr. Cat was one of our favorite activities. Cats are elegant creatures with enormous numbers of muscles controlling their ears, their tails, and their distinctive gait. In his prime, Mr. Cat could jump at least five feet straight up effortlessly and look incredibly graceful while doing so. As a typical predator, Mr. Cat loved to sit on high places where he could survey the landscape, and the top of my dresser and the top of our microwave were two of his favorites because he could look out the windows in both places.

Mr. Cat had several favorite resting places around our house. As a tiny kitten, Mr. Cat was fond of sneaking inside my tablet when I had it folded because it gave him a den. Another such place was our garage full of tools and odd equipment. Mr. Cat would slither under the garage door to get in, but his favorite means of exit was to jump out of a ventilation hole on the side of the garage. Mr. Cat also loved to sleep in the sunshine on an old hand cart in our back yard. Yet another place was the top of our washing machine on the enclosed back verandah. Mr. Cat slept there so much that we had a special blanket on top of the washing machine just for his comfort. No matter where Mr. Cat was, when we would return home, he would come running, jump through one of the ventilation holes on the back verandah, and then sit in front of the kitchen door, demanding to be let in.

Whether because of genetics or because we didn’t feed large numbers of treats, Mr. Cat probably never weighed more than 3 kg. But his spirit was much bigger than his body, and we loved him dearly. Now we are left with vivid memories, large numbers of photos, and holes in our hearts.

The British writer Rudyard Kipling was a passionate dog lover and once wrote a poem entitled “Don’t Give Your Heart to a Dog.” The poem was written after Kipling lost a treasured pet, and of course, the title was highly ironic, for Kipling had obviously given his heart to a scrap of a mut not much bigger than Mr. Cat. Will we get another cat? Not immediately. We need time to grieve our loss and to deal with our guilt as we relentlessly pummel ourselves with questions: Did we accidentally expose our cat to something harmful? Was it the bad mackerel? Was it distemper? Parvovirus? Feline leukemia? Our local veterinary officers are focused on large animals and fowls; however, cats are not something they deal with frequently. And then there’s the question of cost. We spend significant sums of money each week assisting indigent patients with their expenses. It sounds harsh, but if we had to choose paying for human children to get well over paying for our cat, we would have to trust God to care for the cat.

Through the years, we have been blessed to be owned by many wonderful pets of various kinds. Romans 8:19-22 tells us, “For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are. Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.”  People sinned and God had to subject all creation to the curse of that sin. But one day, the creation will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. I firmly believe that all creation will be redeemed and that we will see our beloved pets in heaven, where we will be able to communicate with them as Adam and Eve did with the animals before the Fall.

By now, you must realize that the title of this piece is every bit as ironic as the title of Kipling’s poem. We love our pets and give our hearts to them, even though we know that our time with them might be short. But love is never wasted, nor does it decay. We are grieving the loss of our beloved pet, but we will treasure forever the memories of his life with us. And we do believe we will see him in heaven when all creation will be redeemed. For now, we have given Mr. Cat to Jesus, and we hope our little lion is playing among the stars. And in the words Ashantis say to their departed loved ones: Damirifa due, due, due! Gyata Ketewa! Sleep well, little lion! Sleep well, Mr. Cat!