Eulogy For Me My Cat Meow Meow

I just buried my eighteen year old orange cat, whose name was Meow Meow. He always came to that name; I would step out my back door and say Meow Meow with a special sound reserved for the Race of Cats, look around for him (even when he was a young cat, he moved slow because he obese from a eating disorder), expecting to see him emerge from his hiding place, but he always surprised me just appearing next to my feet. I would look down and he would stare right back into my face, keeping eye contact and smiling a special smile that was for me and only me. I took a picture of him once and you can clearly see the love that radiates from him as he looks up at me; I was his Person and besides me, only a chosen few were allowed to touch him. He was a strange cat but a loyal cat and since I value loyalty more than anything else, this fat orange ball of fur was the perfect cat for me. I began to miss him instantly.I am not ashamed to say that as I write this, my eyes are more than just a little moist and my nose will not stop running. My chest feels heavy and though I try to loosen the tightness with periodic hits from the bowl of tree, nothing will ease the anxiety that is coursing through my body. My glasses are stained with tears as I try to see through them, typing this eulogy for Meow Meow almost blindly. Death seems to love following me around; every important person/thing in my life has left me or died, with the exception of my mother and I know she could go at any moment, too. Just like how Meow Meow waited for me to get back from Chicago before dying, I believe my mom is doing the same so that I will not be left completely alone. It’s almost worse for me, in a way, because the waiting of impending death weighs heavily on my spirit and every time there is a close call with her, I feel like I have all day, while I was waiting for the Vet to arrive at the house and kill my cat. I spent most of the day with him, petting him and letting him know that I loved him. Because I did love him; he was there for me all the time, never requiring more than a pet, purring at the very sound of my voice. I know this because friends have told me that he would instantly animate when he heard me talking outside from wherever he might be at the time. He was a friend of mine, not just a cat.Meow Meow became my cat when I was eleven(11) or twelve(12); the poor bastard was abandoned by my evil aunt and uncle, who had a pretentious, big house on Benjamin Holt Dr., in Stockton, California. The backyard of the house opened onto Swenson Golf Course. They had lost the house due to my Aunt’s addictions and the active support of her demons by the Orthodontist husband; they were not good people and I believe my father sold his soul to destroy them, which he did. This is not

important. What is important, and proves what sort of people these supposed pillars of Stocktonian Society were, is that they abandoned this poor little orange cat and he survived for a few weeks hunting snakes and mice in the golf course. He still came by the house frequently, however, and one day the old house keeper, a fat slob of a woman who had a crush on my father and therefore would do favors for him, was at the house “cleaning” when she found the then unnamed Meow Meow. She caught him and took him to my house and when I arrived home from school, I had a new cat. I lived upstairs in a loft room and for one whole year, the cat did not leave my room. Then he became a Inside/Outdoor cat, loyal only to me and friendly to others only when it suited him. He was not afraid of dogs and would swipe, letting Maxwell, my brown Chesapeake Bay Retriever know that he meant business about not being fucked with. He was good friends with my original Chesapeake, Waldo, and would sleep with him in the winter so to keep as warm as he could. He was smart and would never think of using the floor/carpet as a toilet; it was only during old age that he began to have accidents and I could never be too upset with him because I could tell that he was embarrassed. He was a great cat and he was mine completely.So I hope the Gods of The Eternal Fields of Catnip and Marijuana prepare the coming of a righteous orange cat named Meow Meow, who was the best cat that any one could ever hope to have. Beware; he was my cat and I raised him to take absolutely no shit from any one, up to and including The Gods. He was a total innocent and other than food, sleep and the smell of potent tree smoke, Meow Meow did not suffer from an affliction of multiple vices. He is buried in between the two Redwood Trees that line the back wall; and I hope the roots of the trees wrap themselves around him. I will choose to believe that his spirit will be in those trees and in the back yard. Besides, I planted a few seed of a special plant and I doubt they will grow but if they do, I know I know that it was Meow Meow that made it happen.

I Love You, My Furry Friend, May You Find The Peace You Deserve!!.R.I.P. Meow Meow

.A.N.F.June 16, 20109:53 P.M.Stockton, California