This is not Grace.
This is Harry.
I don't have any pictures of Grace, she was not photogenic.
Now I never will, Grace was put to sleep (that's a euphimism for killed, hopefully humanely) yesterday afternoon. Grace was a great cat. A larger than life cat. We used to joke that the floor shook when Grace walked. I loved my cat. I love Harry too, but Grace was different. Grace chose me. So I'm going to tell some Grace stories. Those of you who don't understand cats and the people who love them can go fuck off out of here and find another blog to read today. I don't have room enough to spare your feelings.
So, I first met Grace when she was just a kitten. My (now ex) wife Bethany and I had just looked at a Cello, a very nice Cello, that we couldn't afford. Poor Bethany was just heartsick. The next step in her evolution as a musician was riding on the hope of a better Cello, and it was being dashed because I was too damned poor to provide one for her.
I didn't know what to do. How do you console someone who's dream has just been dashed? The only thing I could think to do was to get a kitten. I know to some of you that sounds fucking stupid but there you are. So I made the suggestion that we find a shelter and get one. Maybe you don't understand how getting a kitten could help. Ok, I'm not toally sure either but I had to do something and that was the only idea I had.
Bethany dried her eyes and asked me if I meant it. Of course I meant it. Right then if she wanted me to shoot the Cello owner and steal it, I was game. So when I said yes, she jumped at the chance. We stopped at a pay phone (they had them back in pre-cell phone days) and looked up the nearest shelter. We were somewhere in the wilds of New Jersey but right now I couldn't tell you exactly where.
Of course there was a local shlter and of course they were open. So off we trundled to this home for unfortunate felines. Now I knew what kind of cat we were going to end up with. I was not settling for some ordinary single color plain wrapped kitty. I wanted a calico. Something with some really cool colors. Or maybe a Main Coon, a huge cat that we could train to be an attack cat. So yes, I'm an idiot.
Well we get to the shelter and we're looking through the kennels at all of the cats. Jesus, there were a ton of cats. Once there I didn't know what to do. I thought Bethany would zero in on some gorgeous beast, they'd connect and that would be the end of the story. fate had a different plan.
As I was wasting time waiting for the inevitable, I saw this tiny little black kitten in the far corner of one of the kennels. She looked absolutely terrified. My heart just went out to the poor thing and I asked the pound guy if I could look at that one. (what do you call someone who works at a shelter, pounder, poundie, prison guard?) I had no intention of bringing it home I just thought that it needed a little attention. I picked up the little weightless thing and put it on my shoulder. It immediately started to purr. so we had our little moment and I thought it wwas time to put it down and get back to the business of being a good husband and let my wife find the cat she wanted.
Well, the kitten had other ideas. She dug her claws into my shoulder and started wailing out the most pittiful sounding wail you've ever heard. I could not remove her, well not without risking serious injury anyway. Bethany and the pound guy came running to see what sort of horrible torture I was subjecting this poor little kitten to. After a few minutes we all decided that we should probably take that one home, we didn't think there was any way to get her off of my shoulder, short of surgery.
So I decided when they asked us what we were calling her that she should be called Grace, after Grace Jones, since she was a lithe black cat. I had no idea at the prophetic irony in the name, as she was not graceful in the least and her lithe days ended with her kittenhood.
We got her into the car (yes, she was still on my shoulder, we had been completely unable to coax her off) and headed for home. Ten minutes into the drive she finally disengaged, and strutted around the car as if to say, so this is my car, I hope the new home is up to my exacting standards.
She was always the Queen. This was of course upsetting to Ruth, our other female (who stayed a very unhappy cat for years). She was sturdy and hilarious, she used to try and jump from the chair to the counter but it was always a production
( I think she was near sighted) and it was practically a garauntee that something would be broken at the end of the leap. She never let it phase her though. Once we got Harry she had a match, he was long limbed and fast, she was slow and dumb and could take a punch like no ones business. They had some furious nock down, drag out fights but they were always in good fun, no missing fur, no stitches.
Grace, in keeping with her life, did not grow old gracefully. She aquired an aroma and dandruff. Near the end she couldn't control her bladder and walking was difficult. I took her to the vet when she stopped using her back legs. The vet told me that she had several slipped discs (maybe more) there was some medication that might help and lots of nursing but there was no guarantees. I felt that perhaps it was time to let her go. It sounds like an easy cavalier decision but I agonized (and still do). I love and miss her.
