This morning, Cricket and I took Hello Newman to be put down. Yesterday, unable to drink or eat, he slipped into his final journey. I'd been lucky, in that since the visit to the vet's on Monday, I'd been home and sick in bed, with him. I spent yesterday and last night cradling him, weeping at times, singing old Scottish lullabies at others, stroking his fur and inhaling his scent.
Cricket came back from the shore, where she'd gone to be able to vote on Tuesday. It took some time and tears, but we made the choice to let him go. He wasn't suffering, per se, but we wanted to make sure that he wouldn't. Even now, my throat swells with sorrow. To swallow is painful, my stomach upset and fighting to retch.
Hello Newman was an amazing cat. A broad faced tuxedo stray that came into my life some ten or so years ago, by a chance meeting. My friend Dave Shiels had found him and had him out back, sheltered in a box. It was dark when I went to meet him, but Dave plead his case. He was an animal of amazing grace, dignity and uncommon power. In his too short time with me, he showed two devout dog lovers, Cricket and Clare, how and why cats are such wonderful beings. He had the most incredible eyes.
His green eyes were seas, oceans, worlds.
His calm demeanor was sometimes ruffled. When Griffin was first introduced, he threw up. The same happened when Gemma-Pooh-Bear came in and announced her unconditional love and devotion to him, with loud purrs and fawning.
He was the first cat to realize that if he walked slowly, rather than run past Griffin, the dog would not follow.
Cricket woke up one day to see Hello Newman reaching out and patting Griffin, as he slept in her bed.
He smelled a little sharp, like hay.
He learned to beg table food from Cricket after watching Griffin. He became more insistent and noisier, as the years went by.
He was a lover, a lap cat, a massive presence.
As he grew older, he stayed upstairs more, where our temporary kitchen and my bedroom are.
As I watched him fade, I worried I'd taken too long. He cried out once, when I moved him to a dry spot on my bed. But I think the time I spent with him was right. Nigel Nancyboy and Zebedee Minky Star were freaked out. Right now, they're squabbling. But they have before and I suppose it's part of the dynamics of a mixed pride.
The doctor who met us at Penn's Veterinary Hospital was so good. Sensitive and caring, she wanted to make sure that we were all in agreement. She let us say our good-byes, offering more time when she checked back. I said it was time, and I held him with Cricket next to me, both of us crying. The vet did not cry, but sniffled as she administered the shots. He died quickly, his beautiful, luminous, gorgeous eyes open. Shiny and bright like his coat, they looked beyond. Hopefully to see a better place.
I feel honoured and extremely fortunate to have known him. Hello Newman, may you rest in peace.
Push My Buttons!
Stumble It!
Friends Of Bill.
A Hoy Award.
Thanks to Stephany over at Soulful Sepulchre.
Please Click Daily To Give: It's Free!
Subscribe Here.
Posts
Comments
Brilliant Mental Health Blogs:
Riveting Reads, Eye Candy 'n' Fun.
The M/H Pros....
Newsworthy.
From OEDb:
Arte Y Pico Award From John D.
![[Arte_y_pico115x191.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStoZxNIaOitBz43RJ-OKrZ0Ydq4Wwea9N8mzRWSX09-55vC1aZJPYepk5yrs7H1_ZXrZsHug_9KzRo0GqSqVOswSdSBlecTigPP00YKTD0SGmGylkAYg9JC9seJnH2l45EqBvLLaMrBA/s1600/Arte_y_pico115x191.jpg)