Thank you
You showed up at my door with your dopey little eyes. Just staring at us, just looking for something. Maybe food. Maybe affection. No one else wanted you. Skinny, probably flea ridden. I gave you a little handle full of food, you run away because you couldn’t trust people. Eventually you came back and ate the food.
You came back again and again through that summer. I called you Dopey Cat, not wanting to give you a name. Name means attachment and I didn’t want to get attached to a cat that could stop showing up any day. You kept coming and eventually you accidentally rubbed against my leg. Maybe it was something ingrained because you claimed us as your pack. When I didn’t hit you or yell at you, you let down your guard and that’s when you claimed the blue cushion outside as your bed. We’d see you konked out on the cushion late at night, occasionally swatting away a raccoon that got to close. One morning, I gave you a different name: Delilah. I’d sing my little jingle to you as I took your wet food out each morning.
The weather turned colder and I took a gamble. I moved you inside. Yeah, you spent a few days just chilling under the table and most of the time waiting for someone to open the door. Eventually, you came down and claimed your spot on my bed right on my head. You were the sweetest cat. Only wanting two things: treats in the morning and the toilet lid left up so you could drink out of it (despite clean water being tight in front of you). You gained another name: Murph. For you soft little almost grunt like meow. Every mealtime, you were climbing up our legs trying to eat whatever we had. A lifetime of eating trash turned you into a billygoat, even stealing a full slice of pizza from my wife. You also adamantly refused to pee directly into the litter box and operated with a “close enough” peeing philosophy by peeing directly next to the litter box.
You started getting skinnier and your instance for food got less and less intense. Instead of sleeping by my head, you started sleeping at the door. Not just at night, but all day too. I tried convince myself you were fine, just allergies. I even convinced myself you were on the mend when you slept on my head one last time last night. When you sat at my feet and I gave you a scrap of food that you always gobbled down. You looked at me, with those still dopey eyes, with a pleading glare. Not for food or affection. But for relief. The vet confirmed the worst, any life you had left was going to be spent suffering. I already knew my answer, and I knew it was time to let you go. We held you and you purred one more time.
I want you to know, I cried for you. I’m going to miss you sorely. Thank you for coming into my life, Deliliah Quinn. One day, when everything turns black I’ll know I reached the other side when I hear your little “mrph”.