Some Kossacks may remember the diary posted a few days ago about Duke, my sick tomcat and the ‘song’ I had written for Him. I was celebrating what I thought was beginning of his recovery from a three week respiratory infection. I was mistaken. It’s Wednesday evening and He and I have just returned from the Vet’s office. He’s lost another pound and is now down to 7.6 lbs, half his healthy weight. his lungs are worse and both cervical lymph nodes are swollen. The Vet gave him subcutaneous fluids, a B12 shot and not much hope. It seems the respiratory infection is only the visible part of worse problems stemming from his FIV.
As I write this He is reclining comfortably in a chair next to mine in the bed that was his Christmas present. His face is haggard, his once formidable body is a silver grey robe wrapped around his nearly bare bones. This is not how I will remember Him. As he sits there His head erect but a little wobbly it is only his eyes that I can look at without pain and worry. Those clear, wise, brave eyes are all there is left undying of My Little Lion. It was those eyes, translucent jade green and agelessly deep, that took my heart before I could count the cost (as If anyone falling in love has ever counted the cost). Those eyes still shine with tiger fire and are resting on me now with love and trust and a little bewilderment for how He and I have come to this scary time.
We met in late 2015. He was abandoned at the same time as Lexie, who I wrote about here. She was little and scared and vulnerable so We took Her in and later through the great collective heart of Dkos she found a forever home as told here . The big tomcat that was her companion had little interest in being rescued at the time but hung around outside my garage shop everyday watching the goings on with focused attention. I began to put food out for him but he was considering entering an exciting career as a feral cat and would not be approached.
It took about a month. I noticed one morning that as he was watched from the driveway he was sitting closer than before. I moved a little closer and noticed He had chewing gum stuck between His ears, probably the result of raiding trash cans as part of his experiments in the feral lifestyle. After quiet negotiations conducted mostly through body language a tentative trust treaty was signed with a chin rub, a technical aid program was put in operation and the ground work for further friendly relations was firmly laid. He trotted away gum free with a cool punk haircut and I went back to work with those eyes stuck in my mind.
It took about another week. He moved into my little shop and promptly made it his own — top to bottom, front to back and inside out. The power tools didn’t scare Him (except for grinders) the lathe fascinated Him and the multitude of shelves, tables, drawers, and assorted nooks and crannies formed a kingdom of mystery and adventure. It was in that cluttered little two car garage that Duke re-found his place and purpose in this frenzied, faithless world.
Duke turned out to be sorta odd, even by feline standards. He has lot of dog like tendencies — he likes to lick my face, hands, nose, forehead , whatever’s handy — and sometimes when He’s happy He makes a chirping noise like a little bird. He is also a very confirmed homebody. He doesn’t like to roam and only once have I ever seen him stray out of His suburban house lot, the main exception being a snug lair under a boxwood nest to the neighbor’s house corner, about eight feet over the property line. When he follows me to the mail box he stops on the front property line six feet from the curb and waits for me to return across the border to our little shared kingdom. He is also an ‘outside’ cat. He would come in reluctantly when it was real cold and sleep in the laundry room the first winter but then I got Him a small electric heater and a basket by the band saw and after that He came inside only to eat and endure the scornful vibes sent by Pixel and Maxie the Lords of the Indoor Kingdom. On most warm nights he sleeps in his boxwood lair or in a tool drawer, on a shelf or inside a kayak.
Duke has never been on of those cats that demand affection — attention yes, but He never was inclined to force me to pet Him and when I did He always felt obligated to return the favor by using his tail to pet me back, while purrin’ His soft-spoken but deeply sincere purr and licking my hand, ear, nose or whatever. When we weren’t in our shop fabricating our future we retired most evenin’s to a spot in the middle of the front yard flanked by a small patch of ribbon cane and four of five large pots of milkweed. We kept a 2’ x 2’ x 3/4” piece of peeling plywood there on top of an old tub. As soon as I would sit down in the grass with a pipe, beer and a book Duke would hop up onto his plywood ‘work bench’ and begin to use his paws to bend and break the plies while making as much noise as possible. After a while I figured out He was just doing the same thing He’d spent the day watching me do — Duke, the natural born artisan.
When His ‘bench work’ was done Duke would usually hop down saunter over ( Duke saunters like he invented sauntering) and recline on whatever paper I had spread in front of me to receive his pets -purrin’ in whispered pleasure and licking my hand like a friendly pup. After a while I would cradle Him in my arms and we would talk to each other with our eyes using a vocabulary of winks, blinks and soul mixing stares combined with muttered endearments and those little bird chirps. Like the Guy Clark song says we are fools for each other. I’ve known some good cats and a couple of good horses in my life but no other soul on this has ever looked at me with eyes that touched me as deeply.
Duke at workTogether He and I began to build us a gas forge, we later named MISS GERTIE. I did the fabrication while Duke provided silent but solid support. He watched and listened with rapt attention and sometimes concern as I drilled and ground and welded, and sweated and swore and threw things while MISS GERTIE was being born and our friendship was rooted in the work. We were a pair of would-be lions roaring against our suburban cage and with our hearts allied against a world trying to phase us out. So we built MISS GERTIE and all the foundry tools needed to sand cast our future in bronze and then we started constructing a building in the back yard to house our eccentric enterprise. Duke and Me were having the time of our lives.
MISS GERTIEThere were troubles along the way. Duke became pretty territorial and since he weighed 15 lbs he was able to enforce His borders with passion and success. One morning I found a double handful of yellow tabby fur from my neighbor’s cat along with the poor interloper’s collar laying just outside Dukes cat door. Another time the same neighbor’s yappy little dog got out of the house and proceeded to run to the shop and attack me. I was in little danger from the diminutive pup but the commotion we raised aroused Duke from a period of contemplation in His fortress of solitude beneath the big green layout table. He didn’t pause to assess or plan but launched himself like a ballistic tabby rocket into the fray. He proceeded to prosecute offensive operations against the canine target until the pooch broke off the engagement and ran for home. Duke ruled that punitive damages were still due and re-intercepted the fleeing culprit just as his mistress came out the door to witness a masterful display of feline martial art with Her little dog as the medium. I apologized gravely and back in the shop with Duke praised and petted Him, declaring our battle tested partnership to be eternal. I wish it could be so.
Duke at work on the buildingWe finished MISS GERTIE this Spring and moved our work site to the backyard and began constructing a building and large shed to begin casting bronze under. Duke seems to enjoy carpentry as mush as he does metalwork and has shown great talent in finding the shadiest place at any time of the day to take a break. Until He got sick about a month ago I think he was missing our messy old shop but I’ve been encouraging Him with how we are going to set up our forge and he would have a special platform to observe from and even his own cat door into the building. We would found a foundry together — just and me and Him. I will need to find a place to put these dreams, they are too broken to come true and too precious to forget.
The downside of Duke successful defense of our shop was that wounds came with victory. Over the years I have become fairly accomplished at treating the abscesses that resulted from bites he received from nighttime challengers. Tending those wounds was not pleasant for either of us but caused our trust to evolve into something not written on the surface but part of the stuff our hearts are made of; a thing unquestioned and unchangeable. Over time I’ve seen that trust in His eyes grow and I see it there tonight, as His body wastes away His soul is still there in those eyes, complete and undiminished, wise, brave, a little bewildered and trusting. I wish He were going to be here to tend the terrible, yet beloved wounds he’s leaving on my heart.
I wrote most of this diary over a week ago. Duke was dying of starvation and dehaydration, I had made Him a final, fatal appointment for that last Saturday. I couldn’t bear to go through with I so began to feed him with a syringe; it bought us a week — a good week. He gained weight and felt good enough to visit, with a little help, all of his old lairs. We spent time together and rested against each other, taking shelter from the fear that had us surrounded. The Mornin’ Open Thread crew sent a constant flow of good will, good wishes, good advice and just good in general. They cared; and knowing that some one cares is the oldest human need. All of those hearts will be a part of my heart for as long as it beats.
I woke up yesterday to find Duke unable to walk, crying and for the first time ever saw fear in his eyes. The rest of that morning is not something I can write about. He surrendered at 10:45 at the Vet’s office, in my lap, trusting me to His last breath. I lay Him in His favorite lair beneath the boxwood and dug His grave between our ribbon cane and the pots of milkweed where we used to sit and dream together of a future that will never be. I buried him with my own helpless hands. I placed a limestone boulder he used to hold court on as His stone. He won’t be forgotten
( This was hard to write and harder to post. I’m sorry but I just ain’t able right now to read and reply to the comments right now. Thank all y’all but I gotta … be silent for a while and let my heart do what it has to do.