I’m still not up to posting a eulogy for my friend Ronald Cools from the Nederlands, and never posted about my friend and accountant Bob Kell earlier this year, but I think I can do this one for our dear pet Hastings.
Hastings “Pudding” was the first cat that Merry and I got together, about 12 years ago (he was about 2 years old). To the other cats, he was “Uncle Hastings” and didn’t mind the biting back-rides of then-kitten Joey. He got along with everybody. He loved socks. He hunted them, sang about them, and if you left your drawers open, any lederhosen was fair game to be strewn about the living space. He was a yodeller, with a resulting rush for newspaper on our part to catch the hairball, often from eating his other vice — houseplants. And he was the best natured cat we have ever had.
He was diagnosed with hepatitic anemia, which is why he was so tired this last week or so, and his red blood cell count didn’t look too good. He wasn’t in any pain, but made his way to a cozy spot in Merry’s den closet, where we made sure he ate and drank apart from the other cats. he hadn’t had the energy to run down and join them for days and needed his own food on hand, especially since he had started to lose weight for months now, which we attributed to old age.
Upon a blanket, one paw on food dish, he looked his peaceful self, even upon death. Wrapped in a blanket, we delivered him to Pine Rest to be cremated.
I feel silly making such a big deal about this, but I loved him. I’m crying right now. My wife and I just came back from a “funeral breakfast” at Alton’s. Our household will never be the same.