In memory of a cat who was small but important, and who reminded us to pause and to breathe.
Dear friends,
I’m writing to let you know that our little cat, Comma, was struck and killed by a speeding car on Christmas Eve. We don’t know the details; we found him in the gutter opposite our house as we were returning from some last minute Christmas shopping. We are certain, however, that his death was instant.
We don’t seem to be having a very good run with our cats. Tanis (the Great) suffered a similar fate 17 months ago, and Comma’s first, non-fatal, altercation with a car was only six months ago. After being hit that first time Comma disappeared. We looked high and low and then high again, but he was nowhere to be found. After two days and nights we began to think he must surely be gone.
But then one night we heard a frail miaow from the front door, and there he was on the porch. He’d hobbled home from wherever he’d been hiding and returned to us with three fractures in his right rear hip, a few cuts and scrapes, and a very bruised sense of pride. He bravely endured six weeks of cage-rest to make a full recovery.
Three weeks ago we moved from Richmond to Reservoir. We weren’t sure how Comma would adapt to the ‘burbs, but he was right at home in an instant. Experts talk of having a ‘safe room’ for your cat when you move into a new house, a room kept secure for the cat so it isn’t overwhelmed by all the changes going on. Comma had no interest in a safe room. There was no hiding under a bed for him, and he was keen to get out and investigate about half an hour after he’d arrived.
Despite an initial misadventure on his first trip outside, (exploring too far and getting cornered on a fence top with two slobbering, flea-bitten, dish-mop, yappers hurling themselves at him from either side), Comma was quickly at his ease. He loved the greater room to move, he loved the feeling of grass on his paws, and he loved the many windows with their pools of sunlight that he'd almost never had in his dingy Richmond home.
Comma was buried next to Tanis (the Great) in Templestowe on Christmas Eve.
Comma will be remembered first and foremost as our tough, little miracle-cat, who once fought a car and gave as good as he got. (The driver told us the impact had cracked her bumper bar).
He will be remembered as possibly the most successful Feline Ambassador of all time. The number of non-cat people that he won over was incredible. From rabid, foaming, dog-lovers to people with hypersensitive cat allergies, he’d line them up and knock ‘em down.
He will be remembered as the friendliest and most affectionate cat you’d be likely to meet. When we’d come home from work, Comma would get himself underfoot, and let out a steady stream of miaows. With Tanis this meant “Food!”, but with Comma it meant “Affection!” He wouldn’t shut up until you’d given him five minutes of lap time with rubs and pats all over. He even had this way of hugging you, where he’d be on a bed, or couch, or whatever, and he’d stand on his back legs and rest his front legs on your chest.
He will be remembered as a cat more interested in comfort than dignity. If Comma was a piece of clothing, he’d be a pair of tracksuit pants. He’d sprawl himself out wherever he could, tummy to the sky and legs spread wide. Unlike Tanis, who’d sleep at the foot of our bed, Comma would sleep as close to our heads as we’d allow, and even at times rest his head on the pillow. Seeing a cat sleeping with its head on a pillow is freaky.
He will be remembered as The West Wing’s First Cat. Who knows how these things start, but at some point Kate and I started taking it in turns to improvise lyrics for a song about Comma to the opening theme of
The West Wing. Comma seemed to enjoy them. Well, he never said he didn’t.
He will be remembered as the cat who would never drink water from his bowl, only from the bath. He then moved on to glasses. Often glasses that unsuspecting visitors would have sitting on the floor. Eventually we gave in, stopped trying to deter him, and replaced his water bowl with a glass. We’ve never seen him drink so much water.
He will be remembered as the cat that we got a second chance with. After that first time when we really thought we’d lost him for good, any extra time was a bonus. I’ve taken so many photos of him in the last six months, it’s ridiculous. None of them compare a whiskers-worth to the real thing, but they help the memories to stay fresh and vivid.
He will be remembered fondly in too many ways to record here.
Comma, Full stop.
