Grappling with Sammy the cat's passing since yesterday has caused an unfortunate chain reaction of memories for me; I've thought back to other difficult times in which previous pets have passed away. In reflecting on them, I've realized I've become a little smoother--or less contrived, at least--in dealing with the grief that sets in just before the end of a cat's life.
In June 2001, I took a lot of photos of a previous cat, Simon, on his last day. I thought that as long as he was still alive, I should be preserving his memory. In retrospect, taking all those photos on his last day wasn't a great idea. A sorrowful wave sweeps over me whenever I run across or even think about that envelope of photos.
I made a different mistake with Rusty, another cat who passed in December 2000. Because Rusty enjoyed listening to music, I was determined to play as much music as possible for him on his last day. He'd often responded well to jazz and swing guitar, as well as piano pieces, so I made sure those genres were well represented. When I saw Rusty for the last time, Van Morrison was singing the chorus of the William Butler Yeats poem, "Crazy Jane On God."
I know there's no one right way to grieve. Still, I think simply petting your cats and telling them how much you've enjoyed their company, as I did with Rosie and Sammy, is a better way of handling things than the way I dealt with Simon and Rusty. Admittedly, there's a certain poignancy to hearing Van Morrison sing the Yeats line, "All things remain in God," at the end of your cat's life. It's respectful and reassuring--and I haven't listened to it since that day 17 years ago.
