Looking Back

May 10, 2005

Pneu, free of burdensome ears, contemplates her reduced physiognomy in the lens of the Photo Phazer. Perhaps she was under the spell of regret, trying to piece together the memories of a past when she could better discern the sources of sound. Perhaps the mirror created by the lens spoke less about growing older and more about the youth that was.

Baby Pneu, September 1998

"Isn't she pretty?" (written on the back)

Water = Poison

February 14, 2005

I always had a collection of partially filled water bottles and glasses around our rooms in LA. It was a source of contention between my wife and me.

I was convinced that Pneu was marching about her litter box and then drinking water out of my glass by dunking and licking her paw. So, if I left a glass of water in a room for even a moment unattended I couldn't bring myself to drink out of it again for fear of litter box diseases.

Naturally, the glasses would pile up.

Then I hit upon the idea that water bottles were a better solution because they could be capped and kitty paws wouldn't fit in the neck of the plastic bottle. Problems solved. Or so I thought.

Until someone informed me about how plastic leeches into drinking water as it degrades. . .

Animism

February 7, 2005

At this point we still had Pneu and she still had ears.

The Suffering Cycle

January 24, 2005

Apparently I went to the pet store on January 24, 2005. I undoubtedly went there to purchase some litter for sweet Pneu. Well, that was one reason I went there— the other reason was to have my heart-strings yanked at by the world's saddest chinchilla. 

This chinchilla had eyes made vacant by months of incomprehensible fear. 

I wanted to save that chinchilla so badly. The thought of it under those florescent lights for week after week actually kept me up some nights. But to buy it would have been to put another one in its place, and thereby become implicit in the cycle of suffering.

Tilou

I interrupt these self-indulgent posts about my slap-dash writing at Wordstock 08 to bring you a cloying post about the new member of our household. In writing this entry about my pet I fully realize that there is no turning back from blogging about one's dog/cat/hamster/etc. and that in taking this path I open the door to both ridicule and a profound mediocrity. I wish I could be apologetic, but she's just so darn cute!

Tilou is a term of endearment that the French commonly use for their children. It is derived from "petit loup" which translates into "little wolf." The French also refer to their kids as small cabbages and fleas, which may explain something about why French children inevitably grow up to be so very French. As there is a tradition of christening our pet with a vaguely elitist foreign name we felt that Tilou was a tres super choice for this little biter. 

We adopted Tilou from the Oregon Humane Society. The description posted about her on their website stated that she was a good lap cat who liked to snuggle under the covers and was prone to some "playful" biting. Due to her penchant for latching down on human flesh it was recommended that she be placed in a home without children. Apparently, adults are more used to being bitten and don't react as negatively as a child might to the sight of their own blood. Not that Tilou bites that hard— more often than not she just wants to hold your hand gently with her teeth. I think it's a Siamese way of saying, "I love you."

Tilou is a Lynx Point Siamese, or a mix of Tabby and Siamese. She has a primarily Tabby face and front legs with two adorable white tennis socks on her front paws. Her mix of coloring gives her a vaguely toasted look and it is hard to say which breed's traits seem more dominant. 

She is not as vocal as one would expect of a Siamese, but this may partially be a result of having been first purchased by an elderly woman. Tilou uses quite a bit of body language to express her needs for food (as opposed to meowing) so I suspect that her first owner was hard of hearing and Tilou had to adapt if she wished to get any attention. Since moving in with us she has found her voice a bit more, but she still prefers to leap atop human bodies until they reward her with platefuls of wet food.

The decision to adopt a cat came very quickly, but my wife and I had both been feeling exceedingly lonely since losing Pneu, and one day we simply decided we needed another presence in the house again. Like Pneu, Tilou has an abundance of personality, so she'll fit right in to our eclectic household. 

Thanks for sitting through a pet post. For those keeping score I used the words: darn, cute, snuggle, playful, love, and adorable. Next time I'll try to work in a "loveums" or two.

Ten Months of Goodbye

Pneu passed away on Friday, December 14th, 2007. She had bravely contended with renal failure since the last days of January— putting up with daily injections of fluid to help flush her system, an inconstant appetite, queasiness and fatigue. At the time of her diagnosis we were told it was unlikely she’d see the week through. In classic Pneu style she amazed everyone and comforted us for another ten months. We were so profoundly grateful. . .

Pneu is a legend among cats. Born feral in Atlanta, a mother by one year of age in Oregon, and a skin cancer survivor after relinquishing her ears in California: I’ve never known a cat of such character. She was small but fierce, and as loving towards people as she was disdainful of other felines. Pneu boldly slept in the middle of roads, consistently woke me at 5am for years, and slept, without a note of self awareness, on a hot tin roof for a handful of summers. Even before her death she was the subject of a comic, numerous artworks, and countless stories, but she used one of her nine lives per year to build her mythology.

Now that she’s gone it is easy to dwell on the unfairness of her illness. For the most part she did not suffer and we did our best to make her comfortable as she slowly slipped away. Perhaps the hardest thing is to come home with her name on my lips, only to open the door to an empty house and no greeting. Then I remember that she’s gone and I wonder. I sit and wonder in the quiet. And the whole house is an ache.