From a triumphant Halloween to a sorrowful November – remembering our one-of-a-kind cat, Tucker.
We interrupt this spooky blog to bring you this grief message.
This post was supposed to chronicle our annual Trick or Treat Monster Mash Throwdown (working title) here at Marimont Manor. And that will happen, just not today.
While my heart is forever dark and spooky, it does not only belong to me, and it is currently missing a piece.
So, we will skip over Halloween for a minute and go into the first day of November.
“Murtaugh finally made it to retirement” and other metaphors for death
During Día de los Muertos, a holiday observed in Mexico and regions with large Mexican populations, the dead are remembered and celebrated with joy.
Today, we lost a member of our household, a furry friend and a very sweet boy, and I’m struggling to remember the joy. So, I will write about him, hoping that I can maybe hold on to something that will make me smile instead of sob uncontrollably.
Tucker was my boyfriend’s cat. Johnathon took him in when he needed a home and the two had been besties for years before we’d met. He later took in a stray named Corin, a shy one who took a while to warm up to me. I was flattered to see that Tucker took to me right away… until I found out that he is literally this way with everyone.
If you have a hand available, you should be using it to pet him. If you somehow neglected to do so, you would be on the receiving end of a reminder headbutt.
“This group must somehow form a family...”
When Johnathon and I bought our house together, I was terrified because it meant that Tucker and Corin would now live with my dog, Pugsley. None of them had lived with other pets, and I was constantly worried that it wouldn’t work out. We had to keep the cats in the basement until we could be sure that everyone could safely get along.
We soon realized that nobody puts Tucker in a basement.
Tucker walked out of the basement and looked at the dog as if to say, “yeah, I’m a cat, that’s a thing. I’m going to sleep in the living room now because it’s got the squishy cushions. If you have a problem with that, go talk to Food Guy or Ear Scratches Girl.”
It took Corin a while longer to make her way out of the basement (and eventually intimidate the dog with her needle socks), but it was Tucker who led the way. Because, while Tucker needed all the attention from people, he also did what he wanted.
He did no harm and took no shit. He was loving and sweet and sometimes just wanted to be left alone to sleep in a Firefox logo formation or a weird prawn shape.
The Heart of Marimont Manor
Tucker made it possible for our dog and cats to live together, minus the mass hysteria. He did not have the time or patience for such things.
Tucker was Murtaugh to Corin’s Riggs – always too old for this shit and perpetually one day from retirement.
He was Garfield to Pugsley’s Odie. And definitely to Corin’s Nermal.
His calm balanced the chaos of the other two.
He wanted love and affection more than anything, but only on his terms. His boundaries were clear and to be respected.
But, when he was content, Tucker had the loudest purr I’d ever heard. He was an idling Harley in a world full of electric scooters.
He was also pretty brazen when it came to food. When chicken was on the menu, vigilance was especially required. Tucker would scope your plate like it was a museum at midnight, then abscond with your chicken like it was the Hope Diamond.
Tucker took up space. In my first hours alone in the new house, I was certain that another person was here with me when I heard what I later described to Johnathon as “a whole-ass person coming down the stairs”.
She’s Not Famous, She’s Just a Hot Mess
I was such a tear-drenched sob factory at the vet that I asked if there was another way out. I didn’t want to traumatize the entire waiting room before their turn, so we left out the back like we were avoiding the paparazzi.
I don’t do grief well. I grieve loud and ugly and seemingly forever. I communicate through unintelligible sobs and see the world through swollen eyes.
My little foundling family is smaller tonight. My island of misfits is down to four (we are all misfits here). I wasn’t ready for this, and I don’t know how to make it feel any better.
Luckily, I can usually write what my tears won’t allow me to speak, and I wanted to document the joy that Tucker brought to our lives. I will celebrate him and his Harley-Davidson purr, don’t-start-none-won’t-be-none attitude, his audacious chicken thievery and his insistent headbutt reminder that he should be loved immediately, and just as he is.
I don’t know how to end this except to say that you should love on your pets, call your loved ones, remember with joy those you’ve lost, and insist on being loved for exactly who you are.
Thank you for listening.
I never thought we’d be without sweet Tucks tonight, and I clearly needed a place to work through that.
If you have any tips on navigating the sudden loss of a pet, especially in regard to the other pets in the house, please let me know in the comments below. This is a first for me, and I want to do right by Pugsley and Corin.
Also, take a moment to enjoy some photos of Garfield, Odie and Nermal.
