a farewell to Diesel

   We lost our Diesel last night.


  His little body was in the middle of the road, still warm, when I found him.  I brought him in the house, desperate to find a heartbeat or see his chest rise and fall with breath – but he was gone.  

  Those are cruel moments of disbelief when someone that was always so full of life suddenly isn’t anymore and both your mind and your heart can’t make sense of it.

  I let Gillie and Crookshanks see him.  

  It broke my heart to see Crookshanks say his goodbyes, gentling nuzzling Diesel’s neck and licking his fur, circling him over and over, slower and slower as he began to understand.  When we first found Crookshanks, orphaned and cold and so so young, it was Diesel that became his surrogate mother.  They have slept together, cuddled up on an old blanket in the laundry room, almost every nap ever since.   

  Despite it all, Crookshanks has been searching frantically for his friend all morning.  Anyone who says that animals don’t feel grief is a fool.  

  Diesel, like all of our cats, was an accidental rescue.  Three years ago, I spotted him getting kicked by some teenage boys and yelled at them, scaring them off.  Diesel, terrified, flew off down the street and tried to hide in the van of an elderly couple leaving their church.  

  He did, in fact, try to get himself rescued by everyone but me.  After being rejected by several thousand people, he finally noticed me and gave me a piteous mew.  Bundled into my jacket, we headed for home together.

  Since I was under strict orders to not bring anymore strays home, I fed him, put him in a cat kennel, left him next to Evening’s daddy and set off to see if anyone was missing him.  

  By the time I returned, unsuccessful, he was in Evening’s daddy’s arms.  “He purred the whole time,” he told me in amazement.  “I think we should call him Diesel, because he sounds like a motor.”

  And thus he was family.  

testing out the high chair when we first brought it home

   All animals have personalities; Dies was a friend.  He was funny, he’d let you dress him up, spin him around, whatever you like. 

wearing a tea towel

wearing a moustache

   He loved children.  When friends with children came over – he was in heaven, following them around, just hoping to be mauled by small hands.  He was often seen playing with our neighbour’s little girl.  Kids could do anything to him.  When we had our own little girl, he was in his element.

playing with Evening

   We had strict rules about cats on the bed with us when Evening was still very new, but just the same I would wake up and see he’d sneaked in and found a warm spot with her legs wrapped around him and his head resting peacefully on her diaper.  He was cuddly.

  More than once I have witnessed Evening grab him by his "manly bits" and pull him across the floor – and he would never give her more than a warning swat for it.  He was tolerant.  

  Evening would always give him a big, full bodied hug whenever she saw him after an absence.  So did Evening's little friends.  Whenever he came back inside after a good romp outside, he would always insist on a cuddle from me too.  He was loved.  

  He also had poor traffic sense.  If I could have kept him indoors full time, I would have, but I do believe that it is an incredible cruelty in taking a once wild animal and keeping them locked up.  Crookshanks was young enough when he joined our family that he is a very content indoor cat, but Diesel – Diesel needed to be free.   

  And I'm so sad.  I'm so sad he's gone.   It hurt so bad this morning passed without him and Crookie playing tag in the living room while Evening looked on and squealed with delight.  I can't believe he'll never give me one of his adoring looks again.  I'm so sad that Evening has lost such a dear playmate.  I'm so sad Crookie lost his best friend.  I'm so sad he didn't get to grow old and die in his sleep 14 years from now, warm in his bed.  I'm sad for Evening's daddy, because Diesel was the first cat to ever win him over.  I'm so sad we'll never giggle at the way his toes would curl up when he wanted you to pet him - "that's where he keeps his hope."  I'm sad for me, because he was a warm, constant, reassuring presence that could always make me laugh and it seems too cruel that he's gone.