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We buried our cat Paka this evening in the garden, next to a grapevine.
She was 15 years old, which is 76 in people years, but it still seemed too soon. Lots of cats live into their high teens. Some crack 20 years even. I wanted to grow old with my girl, to take care of her. But now she’s dead. I feel like a failure, like I’ve let her down.
Paka had an abscess no one knew anything about, and it was so bad they needed to put her under anesthesia. The vet said they’d do blood work to make sure she could take it, but I guess they did not reckon on her heart, which had had a murmur her whole life. I rushed to the vet after work Friday to get her — I did not want my girl spending the night in a strange place — and she seemed woozy but OK; she was a lot like I was when I came home from surgery in December.
Saturday she ate, took her meds and seemed to be on the mend. But by Sunday morning I knew something was wrong. Paka hid herself under the couch and was having trouble breathing. Panting is a sign of pain, so we wrangled her into position to give her pain medication. Afterward, I reached under the couch to pet her, and she cupped her head in my hand, looked at me and purred. She didn’t want me to stop. I didn’t want to stop. Sweet girl.
What we did not know then was that her breathing was labored because she was getting fluid in her lungs, and her heart was giving out. Paka knew she was dying, and wanted to be with me before she went.
But to my everlasting regret, we didn’t realize this at the time. We even went out foraging for a bit, my first trip since my injury. When we came back a couple hours later, Paka was in worse shape. She was barely responding.
It’s funny how we can hold things together only just so long. We got her into a carrier and swept her to the vet, which is a couple minutes away. I was OK. Calm, even. Maybe Paka was having a reaction to the medicine. Maybe she was going to be all right.
She wasn’t. Just before five o’clock, the vet told us to come in fast. When they’d taken her off oxygen to prepare her for a trip to a nearby emergency room, Paka stopped breathing. They put her on a ventilator so we could see her one last time. I looked into her eye, and she looked scared. I was scared, too. She died on the table, soaked in our tears.
I held her, sobbing, for a long time. We took her home and put her in a box with a soft towel. We sat there, stroking her fur, until the sun went down. And then we sat in the dark.
Even now, I can’t stop sobbing. I am a grown man, and I still can’t stop sobbing. My face hurts from so much sobbing.
Paka was much more than just a cat. I got her as a kitten, just a few months old, from a crazy cat lady in Bayport, Long Island, in the spring of 1996. I picked her out because she looked a little like a cat I’d had earlier named Gomez, a cat I lost when I broke up with my girlfriend at the time — she was a vet tech and could take better care of them than I could.
But I wanted a companion of my own. I lived alone then, although I was seeing the woman who, for a time, would become my wife; Jen was with me at the crazy cat lady’s place, and she chose a cat she named Savannah, because she looked like a cheetah. I named my little cat Paka, which means “cat” in Swahili. I actually named her Paka Potea, which is a Swahili pun. “Pata potea” means the same thing in Swahili as “so-so” does in English. I tell you this because that’s the origin of our other name for her — Tater — which comes from Holly calling her Paka Potato. Funny how we give our loved ones lots of little names.
For years, it was Paka who greeted me when I came home from work every night. For years, it was just me and her. Like butter and bread. I fed her everything and anything, especially fish bits. I was fishing a lot at the time, and Paka got all the stray parts. Of the three cats we live with, Paka was the only one who ate fish. She might have gotten a little rotund — OK, a lot rotund — but she was Falstaffian in her loves. Lots of food, lots of love and lots of sunshine.
Every morning I had to find where the sun would hit and make sure some fell on the floor for Paka to pick up and play with. She’d roll back and forth for a while, then sleep purring for hours.
I have hundreds of stories about her, but the best is that of our journey from Virginia to Minnesota. Holly had left some months before, and I packed all my belongings into a U-Haul truck and set Paka in a carrier on the passenger seat, facing me. It was a 1,200-mile journey that was about to be made longer: The power steering gave out in Hagerstown, Maryland, and with it the air-conditioning. It was July.
Add to this the unhappy coincidence that every goddamn hotel between Ohio and Illinois was booked up, and you have a recipe for a cranky man and a cranky kitty. We drove through, non-stop, with only an hour’s nap break on the side of a road in Indiana somewhere. But Paka was a gamer. After an initial bout of yowling, she just sat there and looked at me, mile after mile. Every now and again she’d stick her paw out to touch my right arm. She was the sweetest cat ever.
By the time we reached St. Paul I was exhausted, and so was kitty. When we reached the apartment, I threw myself on the bed to sleep — and Paka hid underneath. When I finally woke up, I could hear her purring.
I’ve known a lot of cats. Most are nice, but a little aloof. Our pretty tuxedo princess Harlequin is a lovely cat, but she comes and goes as she pleases and could do quite well by herself outside; Harlequin is more of a colleague than a pet. And little Giblet is very much Holly’s kitty: They dote on each other all day long. No cat was ever like Paka. She came when I called. She knew her name. She knew to never wake me up in the morning. She’d eat anything.
All she wanted was food, water, and to be near me. And now she’s dead.
I know some of you are wondering how it is that I can be so wrecked by the death of one animal when I hunt to kill other animals. Is it a contradiction? Maybe. But I am in no place to coldly analyze it now.
All I feel is hollow, gutted. I was forced to sit for a day on jury duty, and while I was not called, I was surrounded by wretched examples of humanity: Clucking hens. Manipulative, wife-beating, white-trash lowlifes. Mad, Jesus-howling black men with Bibles and accusing looks. I’d give a hundred of their miserable lives to hold Paka one last time, to feel her warmth, to see contentment in her eyes, and to hear her purr, that Harley Davidson purr of hers. It will stay with me forever.
We decided to bury Paka next to the grapevine. It is in a corner of the garden, in a place I can see if I look out my kitchen window. And it is in the sunshine. Paka loved sunshine.
I will miss you, my sweet. I love you. Goodbye.
Holly loved Paka very much, too. Here is her sweet story of our sweet kitty.
Hank,
Nothing to coldly analyze: We feel the loss so keenly because they are not our “pets” as much as they are our friends and companions. And like the loss of any dear friend or companion, their death is a tremendous loss. She was such a lovely and friendly cat. And it is a perfect place for her to be buried, in the sun where it’s warm.
Many hugs,
Hellen
Those who’ve had beloved pets understand your loss. They are a special part of our lives and, when they pass, we miss everything we shared with them…companionship, quality time, the trust they gave us, the humor in their games. We look about our quarters and see their toys, dozens of reminders, and time passes to allow us to invite another cat or dog into our lives, not as a replacement but as another personality that will develop its own history and relationship with us. We are reminded that life is unpredictable, fragile, and deeply appreciated. May you look at the photos and remember only the lighter moments you had with your Paka, and remember the lasting lesson that those creatures you allow into your life will often enlarge and enrich it sufficiently to welcome others.
Best wishes,
Ed Palumbo
I am so sorry for you both. Hank, the eulogy brought tears to my eyes. I know the pain of losing a beloved friend like this and it is never easy. She will always live on in your heart.
As with the other commenters here, I wish to say, excellent tribute to your Paka. Tears come easily for me as I completely understand your emotions. Cheers to you and yours Hank. Be at peace.
Swift or slow, animal or human family, it’s always devastating to lose someone you love and my heart cries for you and Holly.
I am so sorry for your loss. My cat, Biscuit was with me for over ten years. He outlasted friends/boyfriends and a series of crappy apartments. His personality was larger than life and clearly had those he liked, mostly women and those he didn’t, most boyfriends and my mother. When I met my husband, he approved, granted my husband feeding him chicken may have helped. Biscuit welcomed my new husband and his daughters, but always let me know that he was my man.
It has been four years since he passed and we have other cats now. I love and enjoy our cats but I will always carry a torch for Biscuit. A pet like him happens only once and awhile and I am thankful that I got be his owner-person.
Be kind to yourself, in time you will feel the warmth of the sun again.
My deepest condolences. I am owned by a cat too and I am sobbing too as I read your post. I feel your grief because I know how a cat can completely touch a life as Paka has yours. It sounds like she had a wonderful life. I am so sorry you had to go through this.
I thank you for writing about Paka. It is a beautiful eulogy. I am crying for you, for Paka and for Mr. Dog (still after 3 years!). Talking about Paka and all her attributes and funny, clever, lovely ways is the best thing to do right now. You don’t ever have to stop. You will always be thinking and remembering things about her therefore she will be with you for the rest of your life. Sob and remember and keep on talking about her! “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5 vs.4
My heart goes out to you, sir. I know the feeling all too well, and would wish it on no one, not even my worst enemy.
May her days be filled with warm sunshine and all the food she can stand to eat…
i’m also now crying at my office at work- last week i had to put my best friend Chloe to sleep- i’ve had many cats but she was the sweetest girl ever and always at my side. she traveled with me cross country, visited national parks, lived with me in Italy. I have a dog as well, but Chloe was my real companion. I knew something was wrong when she hid from me and wouldn’t come to bed- the next morning i took her to the vet expecting some tests to be done and they told me she had fluid i her lungs and it was time- she was also 15 years old. i never ever would have guessed i’d be coming home without her. my house is empty. i feel for you completely and i’m so sorry for your loss.
We had to put one of our cats down last Spring.
We lost his predecessor after 18 years to kidney failure. One week he was clearing 5 foot fences, the next could barely walk.
It is never easy but they do count on us to do right by them.
That’s a true bummer, brother.
Hang in there. It’s all you can do.
Jesus Christ, Hank, you just ripped my f-in heart out. I am so, so sorry for your pain. I can’t imagine it. Just can’t. All three of my babies, Lily, Champ, and Muntz were rescued by me (Muntz by both Jim and me), Lily I rescued from an abused home and don’t really know how old she is 7? 8? 10? Champ and Muntz were babies. I don’t ever want to face what you’re going through. You wrote a wonderful tribute and I really hope it helped a tiny bit. So sorry.
hank, i am so so sorry to hear of your loss. a few years ago, i was traveling abroad the summer after i graduated college. i had a job interview in the states on my drive back to arizona from LA that had been scheduled while i was away. my first kitty, a dilute tortie named rosa, was 14 and sick, but my parents weren’t telling me how bad it was. i got home from 5 weeks away to see her in such pain, dying from kidney failure on a 3 day holiday weekend. she wouldn’t eat or drink and was so weak. my family wanted to wait to make a decision until i was home, but we couldn’t afford vet bills. on monday, a vet came to the house and put her to sleep in the living room, with all of us surrounding her, tears streaming down our faces like they are streaming down mine as i remember her and feel for you. we buried her in our garden, in a then-empty tree well, nestled in a cardboard box lined with her favorite towel and a slice of her favorite human food, cantaloupe. she had used her lives already with a bout with feline leukemia, fluid pulled from her lungs in a huge needle when she was younger. now, a peach tree grows above her, surrounded with low flowers. i miss her when i go visit my parents, and hug my two rescue girls, torties as well, extra hard. cats are so very special in our lives. thank you for sharing your story with us and may paka rest in peace and without any more pain.
My heart goes out to you.
It’s been 10 months since my precious Jack Russell, Libby past away at 12 years. Way to soon. I had her my whole adult life. She was my best friend.
My heart still aches for her. It’s only been recently that I can talk about her without crying.
We are blessed to have had the unconditional love of an animal fill our hearts with joy.
*HUGS*
As I said in response to Holly’s parallel post, my heart goes out to both of you.
So often we wish we’d known then what we know now–that a friend or family member’s time was almost over, be they two-legged or four-legged. But usually we don’t know, we just do our best. You didn’t know, you just did your best. Which was a lot: huge love.
Thinking of you.
So sorry to read this + having had special cats that lived for a long time, I understand your pain. Eventually though, you’ll remember the good things and will realize that the time you spent was worth it because you each obviously got a lot out of the all too short time you spent together. You gave the cat a good life, and she obviously repaid that debt to you as well.
I too am sobbing reading your post and although nothing will take away your pain or dry your tears I’m gonna tell you my lil tale too.
My girl died a little over 2 years ago and I still cry when I think of her, I honestly never thought I would stop at the time. We have had loads of cats through my life but she came into my life when I was injured badly after an RTA and didn’t leave me (21 years later) till I was happy in life.
2 weeks ago I finally felt the pull of a purr and hunted out a new little girl cat who is nothing like my old girl but still so wonderful. I felt so guilty towards my old cat, I still even have her pic as my screen on my phone and I don’t believe I could ever love anything as much as I loved her. Maybe in 21 years time I’ll be able to tell you different..?
Anyways, I’m sending you a huge virtual hug. In the moments of peace between tears remember how lucky you both were to have had 16 years together xx
PS stop beating yourself up over the details, you’re not psychic (I’m guessing?) and she was loved. She knows this xxx
I am so sorry for your loss. Pets *are* family. I had lost a dog that I had known since I was young – he had died when I had reached the beginning of high school. Needless to say it took me some time to heal.
I currently own a cat and I would be very heart broken if anything happened to him. Again, I am so sorry for your loss.
She will always remain in your heart…And will be with you in spirit.
My thoughts and condolences are with you.
I’m in tears from reading this – I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’ve grown up with animals, and have faced the loss of many. They are family, and it hurts that bad. Like family, all you can do is love and care for them. That’s what its all about. I moved cross country with my cat Jake – the idea of losing him someday is unbearable.
My sympathies to you.