2013.05.12 - Animals

We humans are animals on this planet, just like all the others.

We like to forget that, of course. In fact, most of us can't remember that fact unless we consciously try to because we've designed a very elaborate structure around us in order to help us forget our animal status: we have cars; we purchase food from all over the globe at our corner market; we have the Internet; we have special rooms for bathing and elimination; we travel in planes to far flung and distant lands; we have hospitals to help heal and cure us; we have free will; we create staggering works of art in every discipline; we house other animals in our homes; and we've launched some of our humans on rockets to land on the moon, another heavenly body that lies a quarter of a million miles away.

That's pretty impressive work for a bunch of animals.

But we're still just animals. Our greatest challenge is that modern life has given us the illusion that life is always easy, comfortable and controllable. But nothing makes the illusion come crashing down like death. 

Last night, right on schedule, my cat Boober jumped up onto the bed to watch me fall asleep. Minutes later, as I drifted out of consciousness, I remember thinking that if i just moved my arm down, I could touch him. But then I was gone, off into a fitful and jerky dreamworld. By the middle of the night, my legs had wound up so far on my wife's side of the bed, that she left the bed and went out onto the sofa to continue sleeping. I didn't calm down after that, however: I was literally kicking at objects in my dreams, waking myself up from time to time due to the movement. Ironically, during the night, the Shiva candle we'd lit one week ago for my father extinguished.

When I woke up, the kitten we adopted was on the bed next by my feet. When she saw that I was up, she rushed over and began licking my skin, something she's become fond of doing. I meditated while being groomed. About a half-hour later, I wandered into the kitchen to make some coffee. Mary was already up for at least an hour. We kissed. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and poured my coffee. We began to talk. 

Then my phone rang. I looked at my watch, saw that it was 8am and thought: who in the hell calls me on a Sunday morning at this hour?!! So I picked up. 

"Is this David?" I didn't recognize the voice.

"Who's calling, please?"

"I have your cat. I have Boober."

"My cat?! But how is that..." My sentence trailed off. Although Boober wandered around our property, he never crossed the street, and he hadn't strayed onto anyone else's property for nearly a decade. So I was confused: how could this woman have my cat?

"Listen," she said. "I, it's... I have bad news: your cat is dead and I think that —" before she could finish the sentence, I'd spun around and looked outside. I don't know why I did that, but I did. There he was. On the lawn. Motionless. Right there in the front yard. And I began wailing.

"Nooooooooooo! NoooooooNoooNoooooNooooooooooooo!" Mary rushed over to me not sure of what was going on. I began sobbing. "I see him on the front lawn," I said into the phone. Mary spun around and realized. He wasn't even fifteen feet away from us but neither of us had noticed him after we'd gotten up. Mary began crying and instantly hugged me deeply and wouldn't let go. I felt sucker punched. Like someone just took an iron and smashed it across my face. I started crying and moaning. In my grief, I sounded like the animal I truly was. 

"I'll come right over," said the voice and the call ended. We wandered outside and there was a cat. And it looked an awful lot like mine. But it's fur was all wet and matted down from having been watered by the automatic sprinkler system. I put my hand on him. He was already stiff. I couldn't see his face, so I turned him over. And then there was no mistake. Then there was no mystery anymore. Then there was no illusion. My cat. Boober. Dead.

My heart sank. I inspected his body: no cuts, gashes or blood. His eyes had rolled back and his tongue was out. It didn't look like he'd been attacked, hit by a car or injured. He just looked liked he'd wandered out onto the front lawn and then died.

"My dogs were sniffing at him this morning and wouldn't leave him alone," said a voice. I looked up and saw a woman. She had a white trash bag. "I didn't realize that he wasn't moving, but once I saw, I pulled my dogs back...". It was my neighbor, the one who'd called me minutes earlier. I vaguely remember thanking her and then... we were alone with Boober and a trash bag. We brought him inside so the kitten could see and smell him and then, after wrapping him, put him in the freezer. We'll bury him later in the week.

I'm walking around in a fog so thick I can't feel my brain. But my heart? My heart is pounding. 

After waiting over two weeks for me to return home from my father's deathbed and funeral, after keeping me company for the Shiva we held here in Los Angeles to honor my father, and after giving me a week to settle back into something resembling a normal routine for myself, Boober had left the bed, gone out the cat door in back of our house and then wandered out front and into the grass in yard. He hadn't been sick, he hadn't needed any special foods, medicines or surgeries, and he hadn't been suffering. My old boy just laid down when it was his time. 

I haphazardly texted my family. And then I called the vet in Santa Monica - the same vet where I've taken Boober and his brother, Velcro since I adopted them both. I explained what had happened and asked the staffer for Boober's birthday. She checked and said "September 1st, 1994". She paused, then said "You don't see cats living that long anymore. It's really, really rare...." And that he was.

I know I've just lost a father, but this cat — this magical, all-loving, four-legged, nearly-black fuzzball — watched me grow from a young adult into a man. He saw me behaving badly, making stupid choices, hurting myself and failing, sometimes miserably. 

He loved me anyway. 

I rescued a kitten from under a dumpster over at Zankou chicken and adopted him into the family. That same cat knocked over trash cans in the kitchen to search for food for at least two more years and frequently fought with both Boober and his brother.
 
Boober loved me anyway.

He saw his brother Velcro die after having spent every day of his life playing with him for nearly a decade. 

He kept on living.

And then he saw me excel, learn, grow, mature, meditate, laugh, cry, stabilize, and, ultimately, settle down with a wonderful wife. 

He kept right on loving me, begging for chicken, wanting to sit on my lap, or climb up on my chest when I got into bed and being a general love whore.

And when Mary and I rescued and then adopted two feral kittens late last year, Boob was the definition of a Zen Master: unfazed, unburdened and unable to do anything other than continuing to love. And beg for chicken.

Yesterday he was here and I was playing with him outside and scratching him under his arms, something he very much loved. Today he's no longer here. Another powerful reminder that everything in our universe is temporary. Another powerful reminder to love now, no matter what. Another powerful reminder that if your life isn't filled with love, you can go grab yourself some at any time you choose.

Seventeen days ago, my Uncle died after battling pancreatic cancer. Two weeks ago, my father died after a ten-year struggle with Lewy Body Dementia. This morning, I learned that my crispy, bony cat had died of old age, after taking himself —literally and figuratively — out to pasture. 

So goodbye, my friend and godspeed. Thank you for loving me when I didn't know to love myself, for cuddling me when I couldn't hug myself, and for climbing up on top of me, contented, when I couldn't find peace for myself. You will be remembered, cherished and very sorely missed as a part of my family and certainly as a large part of my LA story.

In the end, we're all just animals: I'm just lucky I got to learn from some of the best. So wherever you are now, Boob: I just hope there's as much chicken as you'll ever, ever want. 

Your student,
David