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Written by Michele
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Curly 1996-2009
Almost 13 years ago, a spunky little orange and white kitten arrived in our lives. We knew his coloring before he arrived at our home and planned to name him Pumpkin. That name was quickly scratched when we saw him – as soon as he stepped out of his traveling cage, his happy tail curled like a cross between a question mark and a corkscrew. And so Curly became part of our family. Little did we know he was also as silly as one of the 3 Stooges and his name suited him in more ways than one! He was a scrawny, tiny thing prone to have stomach troubles and my mom was sure he would not make it through the year. She has laughed many times over the years at that prediction as Curly’s tiny body bloomed into an almost 20 pound work of wonder!
We used to entertain ourselves and friends with Curly’s antics. He would chase a string in circles determined to catch that troublesome piece of yarn – we’d be practically dizzy watching and he’d still be after it. He followed us around like a faithful dog, which with his size, didn’t seem that far off the mark! When we discovered he would eat just about anything, also like a dog, we were not surprised. Meat of course was popular, but he would stand on his hind legs and beg for broccoli and green beans, too! He slept on the bed with his people content to rest his head on my pillow – Greg got the “other” end – and waited for me to come to bed to get into his spot. He seemed to be making sure all was settled before making himself comfortable for the night.
Not sure how this happened, but somehow he decided his favorite thing in the world was what we called the “head rub”. He didn’t want to be pet too much by a person’s hands. But he could purr contently forever if you were rubbing his body with your forehead! Whether he thought we were marking him as ours or he was marking us as his or it just felt that much better than a hand, we’ll never know. But he would parade himself back and forth in front of anyone who had the patience to do so for as long as they would let him. He would even pat your hand down if you tried to do things the “normal” way. None of that for Curly!
In recent weeks, his joy of head rubs and treats, and food, even people food, has diminished as his cancer returned. It breaks our heart to see him suffering and that we have to say good-bye to this precious family member. We are thankful to Greg’s secretary who brought him to us (he had been abandoned outside an animal shelter and stuck in a tree for three days – we never claimed he was the sharpest tool in the shed!) and to God for entrusting his with his life. And we now return him to God with tears of sorrow and love and thanksgiving. My pillow will be all mine again, something I once longed for and now dread. There are much greater losses in this world, I know, but even knowing that people are losing parents, children, or watching loved ones suffer does not make my heart hurt any less. As James (age 6) so eloquently put it through his tears this afternoon, “I feel like my heart has broken in two.”
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