Hannah RIP

Posted by Marc Hodak on June 26, 2009 under Uncategorized | 3 Comments to Read

Hannah was a big, fluffy manx.  She hated that.  She hated that her appearance invited cuddling, as if she were some kind of plush doll.  How demeaning.

“Don’t these humans understand?  I’m a vicious beast.  I have claws!  And fangs!  I could have them all for a snack, like that.”

Actually, Hannah didn’t have front claws, but she would sharpen them anyway against a door post or cardboard box when she saw me coming.

Hannah put up with us gamely.  She would walk up to Tess and meow, and Tess would say, “Hi sweetie pie!  Do you want hugs and kisses?”  Hannah would furrow her furry brow as if to say, “How clueless are you, human?  I’m shedding and I need brushing.  Don’t pick me up…no…”

Hannah came in a package deal with Tess.  For the first ten of her fifteen years, it was just the two girls.  They were inseparable.  Tess took Hannah on business trips; the kitty would greet her when she got back to her room.  Tess thought Hannah was the most beautiful, intelligent, loving creature in the world.  Hannah saw Tess as beautiful and loving, as well, but a little dense.  Hannah would tell her what she wanted…food, brushing, scratching, etc… and Tess would ask, “What is it, sweetheart?  Do you want hugs and kisses?”  You could see Hannah’s reaction:  “Oh, what a dear idiot.”  She would then repeat her request more slowly, so her dopey mom could understand.

Of all the dim things her mom ever did, though, bringing me into their lives was the most inexplicable.  “Don’t you understand, anything?” Hannah tried to warn her.  “This big, ugly, stupid, hairless ape will ruin everything!”  Hannah complained about me often.  When Tess would return home, Hannah was always at the door to greet her, and tell her how I had tormented her with attention, or threats of attention, which for her was always unwanted, except for the chin scratching, and a little around the ear, when she indulged me.

Even worse, the Man that Tess latched onto had two boys, which besides all that unwanted attention meant a total of six big feet, lumbering around like a clueless field of swinging mallets.  Since she normally operated in stealth mode to avoid petting, we did occasionally kick or step on her by accident.  Her mom did the same thing, but Hannah assumed, as when any misfortune befell her, that is was somehow my fault.

Hannah met her end, as is common in old cats, with kidney failure.  We treated her for months with hydration and medication which, from her vantage point was simply daily poking and having putrid liquids shoved down her throat.  (Again, I was clearly to blame, even though her mom was often holding her.)  On the second round of treatments for an infection, she finally said, “Enough.”

Hannah will be shipped to back to the farm in Missouri where she was born so her grandmother can bury her next to the family’s other favorite companions, Nick and Shorty.

I already miss the ornery little fluffball.