Tribute to a Childhood Friend

It's not easy being a kid. There's so much to learn, and i don't jus tmean book learning at school. You have to learn how to deal with your needs, your emotions, other people. In short, you need to learn how to live. Most kids manage to find ways to make the learning easier, one of which is through the support of friends.

Friends come in all shapes and sizes: neighbor kids, cousins, school classmates, imaginary, stuffed animals, canine, and feline. The particular friend in question falls under the last category.

My family's cat Simpkin (named for the cat in Beatrix Potter's Taylor of Gloucester) was a part of the highlight of the summer I turned 7. We had had various pets--fish, frogs, a parakeet, even a puppy for a week--but nothing furry due to my parents allergies. Circumstances changed this when a black,female cat started hanging around our cul de sac. Mom, having grown up with cats, felt sorry for her and began offering her pie tins of milk. It was while I was away at camp that my mom noticed the cat was pregnant.

Shortly after I returned home from camp, my mom announced that we were taking her in, and naming her Maggie. We had Maggie another 2 or 3 weeks before she delivered 7 healthy kittens. Simpkin was the first of the 7.

He was a spunky, mischievous kitten who lived up to his namesake. That was an incredible summer. I have many memories of cuddling with little kittens, playing string with them, and watching my 3 and 1/2 year old brother give them rides in his toy dump truck. As the kittens grew big, it came to time to let some of them go. Much as we loved all of them (tabbies Simpkin, Samuel, & Rocks, tuxedo cat Beau Mittens, black-like-his-mother Blacky, half tabby half calico Hannah, and calico Patches), there was no way we could keep 8 cats at our house. 5 of them went to pet shops, my grandparents kept Beau Mittens, and we kept Simpkin.

At least twice in elementary school, I got to bring Simpkin in for show and tell. In second grade,my mom happened to mention to the class that he liked to catch mice, and one of the girls in my class was so traumatized that my mom called her house to apologize and bought her a stuffed mouse.

Simpkin certainly was a talented hunter. At different times, he brought mice, lizards, birds and rabbits into our house, most of which were still alive. We knew from the beginning that he was a smart cat; he understood many words, and even learned to say "no" "mom" and "ouf" (for out). He found his way into much of Stephen's and my schoolwork. Stephen wrote a story about cats being the best pet "even though some kitties are naughty and pluck the rug" and I wrote a poem for an arts contest that got selected to be displayed at a district wide fair.

My family jokes that by the time Simpkin was 4, he had used half of his cat lives. At 1 1/2, he went missing for a few nights. My mom feared the worst, that he had been eaten by a coyote, but on the second morning we found him in his usual plac ein the garage with a broken leg. He must've been hit by a car and dragged himself home. Several years later we nearly lost him when he had urinary tract blockages. Since then he has fortunately been healthy.

It scared me when he got sick, I couldn't lose my friend. Any time I felt sad or lonely, I could find Simpkin and just sit and be. He didn't ask questions or judge, just loved me back. I know most people think of dogs as doing this. They do. I find the same comfort with Valencia. But not many people realize that the same companionship can be felt with a cat.

Simpkin turned 16 several weeks ago. According to the chart at our vet's office, that is about 90 and is labeled "geriatric". He certainly has aged greatly over the last year. Even more of his day is taken up with sleeping, and though when he's awake you can still see the same spunky cat inside, he moves much slower. At his last teeth cleaning, our vet told us that Simpkin's jaw is now too thin for him to be eating dry food, and since being put on the wet food, Simpkin has dropped from 21 lbs to 14.

This saddens me, but not as much as I would expect. I wondered about it for some time and then it came to me. As I've seen the spark and youth drain from him, I've slowly been saying goodbye. He barely resembles the cat he was 10 years ago, and as I've watched him grow more tired, more thin, more senile, I've said goodbye. I know it will still hurt when he finally passes, but it would hurt even more if I hadn't already started my goodbyes.

My mom reckons he's got enough spunk in him to last him a few more years. I don't know if he will, a part of me hopes he does, while another hopes he doesn't. All I know for sure is that all I can do now, is continue to love on him like I have for the last 3/4 of my life.

Buffy (top) and Simpkin (bottom) napping together