Martín - Requiem for the neighborhood vet´s cat
Posted: November 22nd, 2010, 1:06 pm
Martín (pronounced Mar-TEEN)
When a beloved pet dies
we lament.
When someone else’s pet dies,
we commiserate.
And then there is the strange case of Martín,
a fat, lazy yellow-striped altered tom
whose sad demise
sent a neighborhood into deep mourning.
He was the veterinary cat
and he slept behind the plate-glass shop window
in his comfy cat bed on a pile of bags of dog food,
surrounded by toys and supplies.
When those who knew his talents came in
and asked him to shake hands,
he would wake up and sit up and oblige most gracefully.
First one paw, then the other, should you insist.
When you offered your forehead
and said “Kiss kiss” he would give you
a few licks with a raspy pink tongue.
Ah, what a cat!
For ten years, whenever I was into cat withdrawal,
determined not to be tied down by pets
(cats to me)
I would walk the block to Martín’s shop
and shake hands and stroke his fat furry self
and get kisses.
I took my grandchildren,
I took pictures.
Finally I accepted that although Martín was wonderful,
he was a block away
and I needed feline friends up close and personal.
We still visited, Martín and I, whenever I went
to buy food for my three.
And then, one day,
Martín was not there.
He had been infected with a strange virus
by a flea bite,
living as he did at the mercy of visiting animals.
Dr. Gabriel, the vet,
who had taught Martín the kitten his tricks,
told me later
that he and three other vets
had done their best to save Martín,
but it was not to be.
As the news spread, the neighbors gathered,
whispering,
“Did you hear,? Martín died!”
“Nooo!”
“How sad!”
“It won’t be the same
without him!” (Nor was it.)
I suppose if we could have gotten away with it
we would have hung wreaths on the door
and sent cards of regret.
I asked Dr. Gabriel if he was going to get
a kitten
and he shook his head in quick denial.
“Never again!”
It’s been a year now, and every time I pass
the vet hospital cum pet supply shop
I find myself looking for Martin,
and I sigh.
I still see the golden curve of his sleeping back
in my mind’s eye ...
I guess I always will
I dry my tears as I write and blow my nose
and think, “Shit, he wasn’t even my cat,
but, damn, I miss him!!”
When a beloved pet dies
we lament.
When someone else’s pet dies,
we commiserate.
And then there is the strange case of Martín,
a fat, lazy yellow-striped altered tom
whose sad demise
sent a neighborhood into deep mourning.
He was the veterinary cat
and he slept behind the plate-glass shop window
in his comfy cat bed on a pile of bags of dog food,
surrounded by toys and supplies.
When those who knew his talents came in
and asked him to shake hands,
he would wake up and sit up and oblige most gracefully.
First one paw, then the other, should you insist.
When you offered your forehead
and said “Kiss kiss” he would give you
a few licks with a raspy pink tongue.
Ah, what a cat!
For ten years, whenever I was into cat withdrawal,
determined not to be tied down by pets
(cats to me)
I would walk the block to Martín’s shop
and shake hands and stroke his fat furry self
and get kisses.
I took my grandchildren,
I took pictures.
Finally I accepted that although Martín was wonderful,
he was a block away
and I needed feline friends up close and personal.
We still visited, Martín and I, whenever I went
to buy food for my three.
And then, one day,
Martín was not there.
He had been infected with a strange virus
by a flea bite,
living as he did at the mercy of visiting animals.
Dr. Gabriel, the vet,
who had taught Martín the kitten his tricks,
told me later
that he and three other vets
had done their best to save Martín,
but it was not to be.
As the news spread, the neighbors gathered,
whispering,
“Did you hear,? Martín died!”
“Nooo!”
“How sad!”
“It won’t be the same
without him!” (Nor was it.)
I suppose if we could have gotten away with it
we would have hung wreaths on the door
and sent cards of regret.
I asked Dr. Gabriel if he was going to get
a kitten
and he shook his head in quick denial.
“Never again!”
It’s been a year now, and every time I pass
the vet hospital cum pet supply shop
I find myself looking for Martin,
and I sigh.
I still see the golden curve of his sleeping back
in my mind’s eye ...
I guess I always will
I dry my tears as I write and blow my nose
and think, “Shit, he wasn’t even my cat,
but, damn, I miss him!!”
) with five beautiful red-furred newborn kitties and I watched them grow in awe, leaving milk and food out for them. Then, out of nowhere, they up and left, breaking my heart. In the last few years other cute kitties have stayed in our yard, among our bed of flowers, and every once in a while, a beautiful midnight colored cat whom I titled Lazy Cat will come and rest on our porch in the warmth of the sun. We also have the monthly pet group at my job for the seniors, and I have grown to appreciate the colorful characters that have come to visit with us.