Rest in Peace, Phoebe

We adopted Phoebe only because I was in grad school while working full-time and so it felt like I was never home. Pat had always wanted us to have a cat, but I had not grown up with pets other than turtles and fish and refused, saying, "If we get a cat, you'll never touch me again. [You'll give all your affection to the cat.]" I relented because Pat deserved company in my absence.

Pat & I drove to what was then the P.A.W.S. animal shelter in Montclair, New Jersey, where we lived then, in the spring of 2008 and looked at a vast range of caged and free-roaming cats. "They're sisters. Would you like two?" said the cat minder when she saw us looking at a cage with two short-hair American tabbies. I am a sister and couldn't separate sisters. They were five years old, and we intended to go home with cats, who were not kittens since Pat explained to me that fewer people chose full-grown cats.

The smaller one with gray and black stripes chose Pat right away. Pat & I agreed that we each got to name one of the cats and I selected the name "Phoebe" because I liked the sound of it. Phoebe was the one with brown and black stripes. Pat named Phoebe's sister "Muffin" until by the end of the first evening, she declared, "You're no Muffin. You're a Toonces!" because she was naughty non-stop.

I knew nothing about cat-parenting and told my colleague Michele Morningstar, "I wish I could pick up Phoebe and put her in my lap."

"Then pick her up!" Michele encouraged.

I did and learned about kneading. Ouch. Phoebe had a good, healthy purr, which distracted me from the needle-pricks of her claws in my thighs. I learned to give her what she needed and wore thicker pants.

What Phoebe Gave Me

Becalmed me. Petting Phoebe's silky fur and smelling it along her spine practically erased my anxiety. She smelled like a Napoleon pastry to me.

Enhanced my self-regard. I walked around the house, saying to Phoebe, "You're so special, so special," and some of that affirmation rubbed off on me.

Increased my delight. She had a repertoire that charmed me and never got old. Lying on her back while checking to see if I was paying attention, for example, thrilled me. Every time. Phoebe, also, was such a generous purrer.

Decreased my self-absorption. Someone else absolutely depended on me to feed her and monitor her health, and to engage vets when her needs were a mystery.

Enlarged my family. Pat & I were a couple until we got cats, including Phoebe. And then we were and are a family.

Ultimately, you were the "perfect angel" that Dr. Antey called you as she injected you with the euthanasia dose. I love thinking about you in healthier times and only wish you were still here corporeally. 

Just before we let you go, a day or so before, I cried, listening to "Memory" from cats because you, too, were a glamorous -- albeit indoor-only-by-our-design -- cat, who still merited appreciation in the twilight of your life. And you received it!

The Serendipity of Phoebe

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

My Luck and a Cat

It seems like days since Phoebe wanted this much affection. Of course, she waited till I was wearing brown corduroys to perch on my lap. I *was* going to blog about being able to catch up on the rhythm/patterns/interests of an ex-girlfriend's life through Twitter, but this cat-affection is moving me more right now.

(The Twitter thing, I realize, might sound like stalking, but it's not, really; I woke up the other day and saw that she was among my new followers on Twitter and so I clicked on her profile and read her 60 or so tweets, and they gave me peace and relief; her micro-blog reflected the reasons we were ever together and validated my choice of her for that time in my life, even as they also validated our choices of different partners ultimately.)

She's purring so loudly -- Phoebe -- while her other mother sings in the shower off in the distance. Her little limb -- Phoebe's -- just slipped off my leg, and so I can tell she's falling asleep, and the purring is fading.

Two mornings ago, I had the worst nightmare, that I was in a colleague's car with both cats and the colleague wouldn't keep the doors shut, and the cats kept trying to exit the car. It was a dreadful feeling, imagining that if the cats got out, I'd never see them again, as they would dart off on some chaotic quest. They are not outdoor-cats, but they "hunt" birds and squirrels in our yard through the glass doors routinely.

Thank God, I woke up with Toonces doing her daily march over us, to wake us for feeding time.

Phoebe's First Blog Entry

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions. I'm Just Taking Dictation Why are you wearing these silly, nylon track-pants? How'm I supposed to get any traction as I perch on your lap? Suit yourself. You'll regret it once I start my kneading routine, which begins...now! If I keep head-butting your arms, will you stop typing and notice my purring self? I've had it! I'm getting off of your lap and onto your desk. I'm going to rub my face along the left side of your computer and wag my brown and gray striped tail at you because it disarms you. Here I come again. I'd rather your imperfect lap to that hard, wooden thing your computer's perched on -- More kneading -- You'll never wear these pants again when you blog. You'll know better. I do prefer to be affectionate when you're typing at your computer. When you're available and try to pet me, it's so much less fun. I like to look at you with a mysterious expression in my eyes -- hey, my claws keep getting caught on this weird fabric! -- and make you pay attention, but if you won't, well, I'll bathe myself. To do that, one of my claw-tipped paws will anchor me on your thigh. Yes, I'm purring because even though you're not really regarding me right now, you're a handy bathtub, if a precarious one. While I'm bathing, I'll send you my thoughts psychically, rather than talking with you directly, as I've been doing up to now: ~~You know, your friend, Marni, is likely correct about the pine-dust kitty litter she recommended. Probably it is better for my sister and me than the clay stuff. We do like that chicken and liver Fancy Feast stuff, though. We could eat that for every meal! The salmon kind? Not so much.~~ Bath over. What now? More bathing. I missed a spot. More anchoring. More purring. More gazing. More lounging. More mite-evicting by shaking my head. More curiosity. More fur on your keyboard, as you just noticed. Still, you adore me and I know it, and I work it, and I guess you're tolerable yourself.