Today marks the passing of "Leftover Lola," my feline roommate of the past seven years, and general house cat for the six years prior.
Lola was a rescue cat. First, she was rescued from an abusive family where the kids poured tar on her. Then, when my wife had her relapse and psychic break, no one would take her, so I took on the job.
I have never wanted pets, yet my life has been filled with them since I was a kid. I never considered Lola part of my "family," I never pampered her (oh, a treat here and there, but not like some people dote on their pets) and felt like my job was to just give her a comfortable, safe home. I think I did pretty well at that.
For the most part, Lola was a "scaredy-cat." If the doorbell rang, or there was a knock on the door, she would dash away and make herself scarce. I was the only human she came to know, and I think, trust. For my part, I made sure she had food and water, and cleaned her litter box regularly. She didn't like my guitar playing (at least the electric -- that would cause her to run, too), and like most cats would flip-flop from wanting attention to wanting to be alone at the drop of a hat.
I still remember the first time I heard Lola purr. It was three homes ago, after my wife and I divorced and I was left with a house too large for a single man. I was lying on a sofa, dozing off, and Lola came up and snuggled. I dared not move -- she'd never displayed any affection before -- and soon we were just lying there and she began to purr. I felt like some strange, invisible barrier had been breached.
Lola was a healthy cat. I had her spayed when she was still a kitten, but she never required trips to the vet. So her passing comes as a bit of a surprise. Last week, she became lethargic, and stop eating. This past Saturday, I took her to the vet, who examined her, ran some tests, and sent her home with some pain medication, believing that she had perhaps sprained a leg. Yesterday, I flew to Minnesota, where I am working to train a customer. My daughter agreed to come by and medicate Lola as needed. Today, while I was in class, my daughter texted me, first to tell me she couldn't find Lola, and then a bit later to let me know she'd found the cat dead. Alas, disposing of the body fell on my daughter's shoulders, and I apologized to her for that. Lola has been cremated, and paying my daughter back will be the final expense I've incurred over the years.
Despite everything I've written above, I can't help but feel saddened. She wasn't special. She wasn't remarkable. She wasn't even lovable. No one but me (and my daughter, who lives with her family) even knew she existed.
So why am I weeping?
Rest in peace, Lola. I hope that I gave you the safe, comfortable home I felt you deserved. I hope you're in a happier place now.
Camera
NIKON 1 J1
Focal Length
30mm
Aperture
f/5.6
Exposure
1/60s
ISO
800