Right after I’d posted my last blog post about Dark Matter I stood to close the sliding glass door behind me. On the deck were several small bones with small teeth. I picked them up and immediately knew who they belonged to. I ran down the stairs to the backyard where I discovered the nine month old dog had dug up the bones of my cat Angus.
I can’t blame the pup. She did what dogs do.
Angus had been gone for six years. He was seventeen years old and locked into our hearts. He passed as he slept next to my husband, his purring and breath stopped. He was buried deep and then held safe under a pile of river rocks.
The day Teddy brought Angus home for the first time I wondered what compelled him to bring that teeny tiny little six-week old bundle of snarling and hissing teeth and claws.
Angus grew to be a beautiful white and black Manx cat with a personality unlike any cat I’d ever met. He got along with dogs and other cats. He loved Teddy to the moon and back. Everyone else was out of luck because Angus hated everyone else.
He would hiss at me when I’d give him food. He’d growl at me when I’d pet him. Nobody could pick him up except Teddy. Angus was a vile and tormented creature with a soul possessed by God knows what.
I used to theorize that he was the reincarnated and pissed off soul of either Friedrich Nietzsche, or Nepoleon Bonaparte. Angus hated women. He hated all men except Teddy.
Then suddenly things changed. When I was pregnant we showed Angus a stuffed animal, I think it was a dog. He hissed at hit and ran out of the room. But once there was a small child in the house his life was never the same. Small children don’t care if a cat hisses. A small child just laughs. A small child doesn’t react the asshole behavior of a possessed self-centered cat.
Mind you, Angus never bit or scratched anyone. He was all talk. And despite his antisocial scary cat habits he became best friends with our neighbor, a single woman who was allergic to cats. When we were away Angus would go across the street and yowl at her door, then go inside and sleep on her couch.
Within a few years of having children Mr. Angus John Patrick Kings (he was born on St. Patrick’s Day) became the most loving and sweet creature who ever lived.
He loved for me to pick him up and hold him. He loved attention. He loved life. The demons were gone. The last six years of his life were the best – for all of us.
Today Angus came back. I went sort of numb as I picked up his bones and put them in a bowl. I’ll bury what remains of my friend in the front yard. I won’t tell Teddy. I just feel so sad.
I kept hoping, as I moved stones in the front yard, trying to find the perfect resting place for my cat, I felt a presence. Not of Angus, but of maybe someone else. Maybe it was wishful thinking. I know Nigel the Ghost was there, not knowing how to react. Or I imagine he was there. Or maybe someone else, from my distant past, who knew the soul of a cat, and the soul of a Vampire, and a heart full of love.
A small tailless green-eyed monster captured my heart years ago, and he continues to keep a little piece of it.
I’m out of words.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman