Fare Thee Well, Cleo

Dear Cleo, You have been the Best Pet Ever.  I remember when you first started coming around our house right after we moved here.  Ax was about 2 years old and you were as gentle as can be with him.  

You let his little munchkin self pick you up and throw you over his arm, dangling style, and tromp around with you and yet you never scratched or nipped.  Not once.  He fell in love with you right away. Your soft fur, your gentle manner, your fun-loving essence.

When you were tired of it all, the getting dragged around and clumsily cuddled, you would find a high shelf to hide in and snuggle up in my clothes. Cashmere was always your favorite, fleece a close second. You knew how to knead a garment without pulling a thread. That showed a lot of class.

That first year you were not even our cat. Not officially. I called the number on your collar to reassure your owners we were not stealing you, just letting you visit. A lot. “Oh it’s all good, that’s how she is,” your then-mom said. “Cleo loves to visit everyone.”

I hung up the phone. Clearly your then-mom did not understand the special bond we felt for you, and we thought you felt for us.  

But we did the right thing, we kept your family apprised of your whereabouts. Then we got the call that your family was moving away. We had you ready to go with them.  They had a little girl who loved you too and we had no lawful claim to you. They came and took you from us.  

That afternoon after the big goodbye little toddler Ax looked up at me and said, “Where’s Cleo?”

I said, “Her family moved away so she had to go with them.”

“When is she coming back?”

“She’s not coming back, she moved away.”

“Oh.”

And then he moved on to playing, building, snacking, stacking things.  

A few days later, big toddler eyes looked up at me, “Where’s Cleo?”

“Remember sweetie? Her family moved away so she’s with them now.”

“Oh.” A contemplative pause, some coloring.  

And then: “When will she be back?”

“She’s not coming back she’s with her family.”

“Oh.”

For over a year, every few weeks, this conversation would repeat.  Ax wasn’t visibly upset, or confused, just didn’t seem to be getting the message.  

I didn’t think he was slow, not exactly. Thought perhaps his touch with reality was differently-abled due to being only 3 years old.

And then, twelve months later, I got the call.

“Hi, ummm, this might sound a little weird,”

“Yes ....”

“But this is Cleo’s mom.”

“Oh hi!!!”

“Ummm, I’m moving in with my boyfriend and he’s allergic to cats and I was wondering ...”

“Bring her over!” I said.

And that afternoon, Cleo came back to us. She was our cat, officially.

Ax greeted her with joy, but mostly a calm sort of satisfaction that all was right in the universe now.  We had our cat, and she had us.

And boy did she ever have us.  She immediately set to training us, meowing for pats, laps, to go in, to go out.  At the height of her diva-tude she’d have all three of us opening and closing the door for her to go in and out several times an hour it seemed. She had a cat door, but she preferred the thrill of human service. And perhaps she felt she was helping us feel useful.

She gave as good as she got. Many a preschool buddy of Ax’s got the Cleo treatment.  She would let them pet her, manhandle her, wave bits of string and stuffed animals in her face. Sometimes she’d pounce on a toy and perform. She never ever scratched or hissed at anyone, even when she would have been totally justified.  Not once.  

When she was over it she’d just go find a high shelf and relax. The kids would storm around the house looking for her, calling for her, but I wouldn’t give her secret spot away.  She’d come out when the action quieted down.

Mostly Cleo liked to be petted and adored.  Which worked for us.  She’d occasionally prowl the perimeter and scare off any other cats, stalk birds, and chase imaginary lizards. She never brought us any dead things, thank goodness.  She was an eat-from-a-dish kind of gal.

And so gorgeous.  She knew it, but not in an arrogant way.  Just in a way you could tell she felt confident with her look.  

For a while I hosted a women’s group here and she’d always come down off her shelf to be admired by the ladies.  Hang out in the middle of the circle and scan the lap offerings, pick one lucky gal whose lap she would grace for the gather.  She was a marathon lap-sitter.  The kind of cat who would out lap-sit anyone.

During these last few months, with all three of us here all the time, she clearly felt it her duty to give all of us a lot of lap-sitting and close company in general.  She could tell that we needed it. She was a giver that way.

Thank you Cleo for all your love and service. We did our best for you and we wish you joy wherever your next chapter takes you.  You were and will always be the Best Pet Ever.  All Love.

I’m gonna keep going.

www.livingeveryminuteofit.com