Farewell to a feline friend

Jayne and I had to take our cat, Megan, to the vet this morning to be put down. Megan was 18 years old and was suffering from renal failure.

It's never easy doing this. I've had to take one dog and two other cats in for this. With our dog, Mocha, I stayed with her while the doctor gave her the shot and I watched her die. I sobbed the entire day. With the two earlier cats, I dropped them off and didn't witness the deaths. I just couldn't handle it. I did the same with Megan.

Megan was special to us not just because she was our cat. With her death, a part of past has passed away as well. I now know I am older than I ever wanted to be.

Jayne picked out Megan from a barn litter when we lived in Sparta and had just gotten out of college. She was so tiny that she could fit in my slipper. She loved the stairs in our death-trap Sparta apartment. She'd knock her toys all the way down the 20-or-so steps -- stop at the first landing -- then knock them down to the ground floor. All the while, the little bell in the ball jingled.

Megan came with us from Sparta to Saugatuck. We weren't supposed to have a cat in the apartment, so we called her our "clandestine kitty." (It was also a play on the Gabriel Garcia Marquez book, "Clandestine in Chile," but I digress. ...) Her shining moment in that apartment was Jayne and my wedding night. The minister and his wife stayed in our room while we "honeymooned" at a bed and breakfast in Allegan. Megan didn't know it wasn't us until she jumped on the bed and scared the minister and his wife -- and herself -- in the middle of the night.

She came with us to Douglas where I made some catty comment about her, and Megan bapped me so hard with her front paws that she knocked my glasses off. I learned never to make fun of her again! She endured us getting a second cat, Maddie, who was so flea-ridden that we had to have the apartment fumigated. Megan was very upset and told us about this by jumping on the bed and urinating on my thigh.

She then made the journey with us to Fennville. She didn't like the whole house here, but stayed upstairs away from the other cats, kids and parade of canines. We called her our "Anne Frank Kitty" as she hid from the Nazi dogs in the house.

Well, I won't burden you too much more with cat memories. I'm sorry she had to die -- she was special to us in a away no other animal could be.

Thought: One of Megan's nicknames -- Judah Ben-Hur Bulbous Butt Kitty.