The Bunny

The worst thing about being a pet owner are days like today.

My sweet geriatric old feline, commonly known as The Bunny, finally went off into that long good night this morning. I rather prefer to think of it as a sun filled meadow full of small prey to be chased (but not captured)with a full buffet of all the human food they can eat. I prefer that image, actually, so I'm staying with it. But I digress.

The Bunny and her brother Figaro joined us as awkward kittens in 1988. They were the last remaining kittens from an abandoned litter housed at the San Francisco SPCA. Figaro was gawky and had yet to grow into his bat-like ears; The Bunny was small, undoubtedly the runt of the litter. We were enchanted and brought them home, little knowing that they would be a part of our family for two decades.

For her diminutive size, The Bunny turned out to be the huntress of the family. She was bold in her pursuit of small creatures and hauled all manner of insect, fowl and rodent into the house to present to her masters. I always admired her deft skill, for she never actually killed her prey and they were always released back into the wild unharmed.

She also had a ferocious wail to her meow, again surprising for such a delicate and docile feline. My dear friend Hollaback referred to her today as Her Yowliness and I agree; she cold raise a substantial racket when in need of something (food, a scratch behind the ear and in older age, directions from one room to another when she became disoriented in the hallway). She was the house alarm clock, for if food did not magically appear by 5:00 am, the yowling sonata commenced. If we ignored it, she would mount the bed, loom over us and balefully meow until someone (yes, that would be me) hastened the delivery of Fancy Feast to her bowl.

She was a bit of a princess and loved her small comforts: lying in the sun like a walrus, even on sweltering hot days when the humidity rang in at 90%. Of the two cats, she was considered the braver sibling because she was rather fearless. Yet, she was scared of thunder and hid under chairs when it clamored overhead. She had a catnip addition. When I'd buy the loose stash to restuff their cat toys, she'd always leap to the counter and roll in it, lost in her own personal Valhalla.

The Bunny loved her warm spots, one of which was me. I have slept on either my stomach or back for 21 years in order to accommodate The Bunny's penchant for sleeping on my stomach or on the small of my back. Even in her weak and dying state last night, she managed to mount the steps next to the bed and plop down on my belly as she'd always done. I may have to sleep on my side tonight.

The Bunny and her brother traveled more than cats probably should do: San Francisco (three locations) to New York City to New Jersey to San Francisco to New York City (two locations). I imagine they saw the cat carriers come out and thought, "Oh Christ. Not again." They became good travelers and adapted easily to every new environment.

I have a lot of memories tonight. I think of how she followed me around from the minute I walked in the door till the time I left in the morning, yowling at me for food, affection, the proffering of a warm lap for her to climb into. How she would get up in the oddest places, curl herself into a little ball and threaten you with ardent green eyes not to displace her. The house feels quite empty without her here. I keep expecting to look down and see her sitting next to me as I write at the computer, waiting for a lap to be offered her.

Figaro passed away two years ago at the ripe old age of 19. And today, I've lost my sweet Bunny at age 21 and I have to admit, I think a little piece of my heart is broken.