Thursday, August 10, 2006

Lament


Our beautiful baby girl left us this morning.
Her name is Li'l Bit, affectionately known as Lard Butt.
She had the silkiest fur I've ever touched.















She was a talker, too. She could say 'I love you', and 'Hello'. She talked all the time, but these were the phrases we were sure of. We always knew when she wanted something; she didn't stop talking until we got up to satisfy her demands.




She could climb chain-link fences. This is right outside of our office window. She had a little ledge where she could watch the birds at the feeders. She loved to come and go through the window there.









Here, she's shoulder deep in catnip & mums, and, as usual, on the alert.

One day I was showing a friend's 4-month-old baby the catnip, letting him smell and touch. Li'l Bit (who usually avoids strangers) came down from our Stardeck, came immediately to the catnip and started patrolling between the plant and the baby and me.

OK--it's her catnip. We got it.








Joel wrote some sweet words to our friends who knew her. I include them here.

"This morning Little Bit crawled up in between us, had a
heart attack and died. We have buried her at our friend Shaula’s on a
beautiful little hill where she can look down at our yard. We didn’t want to leave her here in case the new property owner began digging up the property. We buried her with her toys, in several of her little towels that
she would lie on throughout the house. Our hearts are broken and neither one of us can stop crying. We had her for 11 years and she gave no indication that she was feeling bad. Every morning when I get up
to go to the bathroom, still half asleep, she would follow me and rub her
little cheek on the door jamb, speak to me just a bit and she did that again this morning. I went back to bed and she came up along side me, between us, and laid there. I stroked her soft little ears and sending her little I love you’s. I turned onto my side and within 30 seconds she jerked, sort of like a violent shudder. Her shudder was active enough to wake Kate. I reached for Little Bit because I thought she was stuck between the 2 mattresses. I turned the light on because I knew…
I just knew. She drew, perhaps 3 more breaths and that was it.

It is such a grievous thing when you loose a pet, a child-like being in your life. She would say hello when she came in, she would crawl up on
each of us at different times during the day and pad and purr and then
go off to take her 10-hour nap in one of her secret hiding places. I hate being in the house because I am looking for her already. I always did. She had 5 hiding places and she would invariably be found in one of them.

Anyway, we know she didn’t want to make that trip in the car to San Antonio.

We were so blessed to have had her in our lives. She was joy and delight and wonderful all rolled up in this black and white ball of the softest hair you could ever imagine."



Our friend Ile, and Li'l Bit's favorite pet-sitter came to us as soon as we called her, and Shaula came down from the hill above our house. It was really wonderful to have them there. All of us prepared Li'l Bit and took her up the hill to Shaula's where we laid her.


She rests here now.
Our friend, Shaula, let us bury Li'l Bit at her house.
We couldn't contemplate leaving her here when we will be leaving so soon.

There is a new little Mountain Primrose planted there, and some of the catnip that she loved so much.




She lies on a little hill where the morning sun will shine and where she can 'see' the window where she used to sit at home.









Not that you can see it, but it's there at the bottom of the curve in the road.








This is a little piece of the garden where she rests.









So, today is for grieving. And surely several tomorrows will be spent this way, too.

There is so much about her passing - timing, speed, place, home with us -
that we are sure all is as it should be. We know that one day the grief will ease and we'll remember her with undiluted joy.

For now, we grieve.

1 Comments:

At 6:53 AM, Blogger Laura said...

Oh Kate and Joel, I am so very sorry to hear this. I do know what you are going through...the way you likely scan the room, and are aware of all the incomplete routines and now empty hiding places. When I lost Sachi, Scott and I had this weird feeling...tangible almost, at how our family had just shrunk. It's hard to explain but suddenly our family seemed so small, just he, I and our cat, Luigi. Sachi was an anchoring spot for me in the day and I found my eyes searching for him everytime I entered a room for quite some time after he left.
I am amazed by the timing of this loss and the quick way in which it happened. And the loving way, too. She came to lay down between you and said "goodbye, I can't make this next leg of the journey with you." There is something very beautiful in this, despite the heartbreak of the loss. It just has this feeling of...I don't even know the word, and I don't want to say anything that sounds in any way like I am minimizing the pain, but it feels like she gave you a gift in some way. Like she knew what she was doing.
She was beautiful, by the way.
I know her loss will be felt for quite some time.
Love you.
L

 

Post a Comment

<< Home