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Essay - An Unpublished Memory
During the early morning hours of August 6, 1997, a time ended . . . an era for us, if you will, spanning 25 years or so. Tootsie, the last of our oh-so-many children died: our very small, black, Siamese-mix cat with the loud voice.
She was the last from about 600 or so; she traveled 9,000 miles from California to Germany, along with her life-long companion Noah, a Maine Coon Cat (Norwegian Forest Cat), and Shawna, a Münsterläner-mix canine. Noah died last year at age 20, and Shawna before him at age 17. Old folks, to be sure.
Tootsie held on despite three heart attacks where, every time we thought 'this is it!' (she took heart medications for over a year), kidney malfunctions, and despite the fact she was born with only one lung. Even at last, she wanted to live, her will was a palpable thing one could sense. We have experienced that kind of determination before and we also know why it existed.
Tootsie had turned 23 this year.
We loved her, she loved us; her little soul has now gone on to the God-of-the-little-creatures, to my God, the only one I care to know. A time to weep . . . for ourselves!
Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and
the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?
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Rose