My dear Cleo

I suppose I don't necessarily think a blog is the best place for this, but as I've said in the past- the blog serves as a journal for me in these modern times. A place where I can document the events that happen in my life, but also a place to explore ideas. Hell, I'm pretty sure it doesn't need prefacing, but at the same time writing about this on a blog also makes me a little uncomfortable. Perhaps I'm not from the generation that is completely accustomed to putting their thoughts out, regardless of how personal, moment after moment in some type of constant feed to their friends and colleagues.

Regardless, I'm going there, mostly because I want to document it.

When I was 12 or 13 years old, I informed my mother that I wanted a kitten. I had cats before this. There was Miss Kitty, the first of the cats. A cat that I picked out from the pet store and chose to be my first cat- right after the attendant at the pet store said, "You shouldn't pick that one, she is a withdrawn and quiet." I knew she'd perfect. And she was. She was the kind of cat that picked fights with the neighborhood dogs. Perfect for me. The loss of Miss Kitty wasn't full of sadness. In fact, from what I remember, she just disappeared. Unless there is something my folks didn't tell me. Miss Kitty did have kittens though.

My sister and I were head over heels in cats at a young age. We had four (that I remember). They were our best friends. There was Poky Pooky and Pooky Poky (yes, that's right), Dots, and one little fella with a short tail...whose name fails me at the moment. All of which met a bitter demise, whether from a car or a dog or a farm in the country.

Later, I decided I wanted another cat. And on Christmas that year, I was given a cat. It must have been 1988. It was the most beautiful (and expensive) cat I had ever seen. An Abyssinian. I had never heard of such a cat. He came with a long history of show cats, but all I really wanted from him was to be a lap cat. And he wasn't. We named him Cleo. Yes, we were gender bending even then.

Cleo turned out to be a cat with his own opinions. Yes, a great cat for me, indeed. He didn't like strangers. He regularly attacked the mail when it arrived through the mail slot. I do believe the vet called him "Satan" and put a sign on his cage when he was there that said, "WYA" or "Watch Your Ass", at which they later informed us.

Cleo had an independent spirit, though we kept him inside all the time. He wasn't the kind of cat that liked this, so he regularly escaped to desirable places- like under the house. My mom always found him, through extensive search parties. He also hissed at most people. At times, I think we felt his hisses were a way to weed out the good from the bad.

One of my favorite stories about Cleo is when a father of a friend came over to visit. He decided to use our bathroom in the back of the house, which is where Cleo was often stationed. We forgot to warn the father about the cat. And the last thing we heard him say after closing the door was, "Hey, little kitty"- knowing this could only end in a gruesome attempt at friendship.

Cleo passed today at 5:15 in my mother's arms. He was 20 years old. And he was a member of the family. He always had been and a perfect one at that. He had the temperament and the disposition to fit in perfectly with us.

Not being in Charlotte, my sadness was obscured. I'm sure when I return to visit the family and I see where he use to sleep or think about him crookedly walking around the hallway completely confused, I'll feel the pain of him being gone.

When I thought about Cleo dying today, I thought not only about him, but other cats that have passed through my life. I also thought about a song that my first college boyfriend wrote about our cat, Ella. I have spent the last three hours pouring through cassette tapes to find the song that Jake wrote about Ella, because it seemed suitable and it seemed cathartic. It seemed necessary. Finally, I found it. And the lyrics are below. And I suppose it should be dedicated to first and foremost, Cleo- but also, Miss Kitty, Poky Pooky, Pooky Poky, Dots, the short tail fella, Ella, and Tereza... but also the cats that still share my life with me- Que, Sabine, Igor, and Biscuit.

Ella
by Jake Barrow

Take a walk
By my side
You're my one feline friend
Awaken from drunken slumber
I never have to dream alone

Bite my face
Scratch my eye
Tear at my curvy ways
Point the tail to the sky
Point the eye, eight to die

Sharpen eyes, piercing to me
Sharpen claws, dreamful for you

Curve the back
Orange eyes
Make the hell
Create the hell
Nature to track the small
The winning prize is on my porch

Sharpen eyes, piercing to me
Sharpen claws, dreamful for you

When your life has come and gone
Wait for me, to sing for me
You might go-
but not your cry
and not your grace
and not your sigh...