Our cat, Max, passed away a couple of weeks ago. He had a gritty life, fitting for coming from Pittsburgh. He spent much of his life either feral or being handed down from person to person before we were given him. He was uncoordinated and had a gravelly meow, but he was kind and generally a nice little friend. He went through several severe bouts of sickness last year that he pulled out of, but the vets couldn't figure out what was wrong. This last episode was an order of magnitude worse, and it was pretty clear that it was the end. We're sad to see the little bugger go. We gave him a solid and comfortable home the last two or so years since he came to us.
We had his body creamated. The day I went to get his ashes was a gorgeous crisp spring Saturday, so I rode my bike. It was only 16 miles round trip, but there were some substantial hills to climb to get out to the crematorium (different than a creamery!). That meant that the ride back home had some very fast, winding downhills. It was a nice ride and therapeutic to have him with me in my backpack. It felt really good to use my own muscles to get him, instead of driving a car. He never drove a car. He just strolled everywhere he went.
Flying down one of the downhills somewhere around 40 miles an hour, I could swear I heard a gritty "whee!" I think he enjoyed the ride.
I'm a little behind on this outing, but Guthrie and I enjoyed a good 4-mile run through Frick Park on Saturday. On one trail was a cat. When we jogged around the corner, it stopped in the middle of the trail and proceeded to swell to about twice its normal size. Once it saw Guthrie defer to it, its fur relaxed, and it came over to me to be pet.
Posts
