My Loving Cat Taffy
From the moment I laid eyes on that cat, at North Shore Animal League, I knew there was something very special about her. Her big, blue saucer eyes just gave me ‘the look’ and I had to get her out of her cage and pet her. She clung to me and wrapped her two front paws around my wrist and that was that. She and her litter-mate Candy were coming home with me. Taffy died trying to do the same thing with her two front paws. She died in my embrace; peacefully, always being told how much I love her; how much she means to me and being thanked for all of the wonderful years of love she gave me, my roommate Ivy, her daddy Jason and every other person who walked in our door.
Her loss fills my heart with a sadness that I can’t put into words. She was my child. I played with her. I cried with her. She always understood me and gave me the comforting presence to through some very traumatic memories of junior high school and high school. She was there when I had such bad stomach pains that I had to go the hospital almost every other month. She was there when the pain I have walking was overwhelming. She was there was the world was in total chaos on 9/11. She always had a sixth sense of when something was wrong and came right over.
Her love was unconditional, strong and it touched my very soul. She was the gentlest of animals. She never scratched or bit anyone. Her constant mode was purring -- very loud purring that really didn’t take much to start. You could walk by her; she’d purr. You could pet another cat; she’d purr. You could rub her under belly up and down like jello and her purring would sound just like a motorcycle.
When she’d want a treat, which was just about every meal, she’d make the tiniest of mouse squeaks and put her two front paws on my chair as if to say, “Feed me ma, please, I’ve been a good cat, pleasssssse.” And if that would fail (which was rare) or if she wanted more; she’d start twinning around the legs of everyone at the table, periodically begging everyone with her front two paws. We always laughed at how good she was at this mind control.
She was loving, but she was also adorably stupid. We used to all call her the stupidest thing on four feet. To which, I’d usually reply, pretending to be the cat, “I’m dumb? I don’t have to work for a living.”
She really wasn’t bright though, seriously. It took her practically forever to find any treat you gave her and then sometimes she’d walk away from it like she forget she’d ask for it.
Taffy loved yarn and string, catnip tea, belly rubs and huggy-woos (i.e. a big, long hug that surrounded her body for a good minute or so), doing the “trick” her daddy Jason taught her of spreading her long, mushy body around his shoulders and then floppying down on them, sitting regal on her cat condo and most of all guarding my feet at night. This is what she loved most and how I will remember her most.
I love you Taffy. I miss you with all my heart and all my soul. I can only hope we all gave you as much pleasure and happiness in life as you gave me, Ivy, Jason and everyone else you meet. I will never forget you. You memories will remain in my heart forever. I wish to G-d you were still with us.