January 5, 2007, I'm on a deadline. Sitting at my desk, writing about death, destruction, and government corruption, that last thing I expected to contend with was authorizing the death of a friend, nor dig his grave. Paralyzed on a blustery blue Friday afternoon, taken to the hospital by an angel of mercy, he was brought home in a box, to be buried in a sunny spot in the front yard. A prayer at 4:20, and Keith to sit with him while his last day ended. Just the two of them as the light failed.
Mirugai did not like crowds.
A long time companion, Mirugai a large, a fluffy orange Tom, with a ruff of white, the gentlest of personality, a Hitler-like mustache, and a healthy appetite, was given to sleep with the onslaught of congestive heart failure. Putting him down was the humane thing do. It was his time. Prolonging his death with a period of drugs and disability would have been selfish. He was a good cat, a great cat, and deserved dignity and compassion.
No longer able to hold himself up, he needed his humans to be strong.
My beautiful friend Mirugai, the Big MG, Junior G-man, Kitty-Kitty, and Monkey Cat dragged himself down the long hall into my line of sight. A skittish cat, thirteen years the survivor in life among cars and coyotes, perhaps he had hurt himself running from the wind, as he had the tendency to freak at the slightest sound. One of his favorite places was the rafters in the garage, perhaps he broke something jumping down. His back maybe? Not good. We needed answers, we needed to make choices, and we needed to do right by one of the coolest cats I ever had the pleasure of co-habitating with.
Fond of attention in the morning, he drooled when massaged, he liked kittens, loved tuna, and was the only other four legger Chantrelle Uhura - Evil Queen of the Planet would tolerate and allow to approach her. He was that special.
Conceived of Ursula in Oceanside, and brought to Leucadia as a kitten, eyes barely open, he was the King of the yard at 1928 Leucadia Scenic Ct. his entire life. He also ruled the garage. A slayer of gophers, rats, and the occasional squirrel, he still demanded canned fish treats at regular intervals. 7 am and 4pm, 11 if you missed him at 4.
It will be at those times I miss him most.
[Editors footnote: I did sit out there, for most of the night. I miss them both now. We do, Chanterelle is right here, right now.]