Goodbye Mickey

In the early hours of Friday morning, Mickey died.

In the short time that he was with us, he brought a joy into our family that was entirely disproportionate to his size.

For Miya, here was a cat who was finally hers.  Maggie is mine.  And Kitty is Mulan’s.  But Mickey was Miya’s.  He was just the right size for her to carry around.  And carry him around she did (sometimes upside down).  He was a frequent part of her games, too, and he often got carried around our home in boxes made lovingly into comfy beds.

For Kitty, he was her baby.  Especially in the first few months, when he was smaller, she would often snuggle up to him, licking him all over when he was unable to wash himself.  When he was feeling sick, she would sit with him, often squashed together in a too-small box.

For Mama, he was a window into the cat world.  He helped show her that cats aren’t all identical, slightly threatening, evil-looking animals.  With Mickey, Mama began to see that every cat has his or her own unique personality.  And Mama warmed up in a big way to Mickey’s sweet, cute, gentle, bumbling and helpless ways.  Through Mickey, Mama also warmed up to Kitty, when she saw how mothering Kitty was.

For Maggie, Mickey was still an intrusion into her life.  She didn’t appreciate it when he flopped awkwardly on top of her, and she bit him gently or walked away.  But I like to think that he helped her to be a little bit more mellow and accepting of other animals in her home.

For Mulan, he was a very cute kitten to love, play with and learn to take care of.  He was the realisation of so many of her storybooks, where the young girl finds and takes care of the helpless kitten.  He was also a big part of her games, and she carried him around a lot, too.

And for me he was Mickey, another member of our family to love and take care of.  Countless hours were spent with him curled sleeping on my knee.

He came into our life when, with a meow, he said, “hello, please help me.”  We nursed him through his broken leg, but he was always a little weaker, clumsier and wobblier than he should have been.  We will never know exactly what his illness was [blog entry lost], but in the end it was this that killed him.  Right from his earliest moment, his life was destined to be measured in weeks and months, not years.  He was a fighter, and several times he pushed himself through his bad times to again play and laze in the sun.  But eventually he was too tired and weak to keep holding on.

Mickey’s funeral was yesterday (Saturday) evening.  He stayed with us overnight on Friday, and Mama set up a lamp next to him to shine throughout the night.  Yesterday afternoon we all helped decorate his cardboard box coffin.  Mama put in his special things—his vet card and his medicine—and covered him with a cloth blanket.  Then, together we went for a walk and found a quiet spot at the foot of a big tree in a nearby bush.  We all got very hot and sweaty jointly digging the hole (and we all got dozens of mozzie bites!) but in the end the hole was big enough, and we placed Mickey’s coffin inside, before covering him over.

Thank-you Mickey, for saying meow to us and choosing our family.  We miss you.