That was the subject of an e-mail I received while at work from my wife Louise. The message was quite simple, having been sent from her Blackberry (amazing she had time to send anything at all):
I believe peeves is dead. She is under my bed. I called Bob to help. I am horrified. Don’t know what happened but know she is gone. Jack in total denial.
Peeves and Snitch napping in front of the fire shortly after we brought them home.
Peeves was one of a pair of sister kittens we adopted about 2 1/2 years ago. Jack, my oldest son at 10, had totally bonded with Peeves. Every night he’d take her up into his loft bed and they’d fall asleep together. She would lay around his room watching him play with Legos, occasionally carrying a Lego helmet or head downstairs to bat around.
I immediately tried calling the house and my wife’s cell phone but both calls went unanswered. It turned out they were having a funeral for Peeves in the backyard. Bob, the handyman who is remodeling our kitchen, came over and dug the grave for them. I didn’t know this was going on and it wasn’t clear from my wife’s e-mail that Peeves was dead…the only thing I could do was check my e-mail repeatedly.
I finally received a second, equally simple e-mail, that ended the hope I was hanging on to:
We’re here now. We just buried her. Please call.
Jack and Peeves relaxing with a little tube.
I called and spoke to each child in turn, starting with Jack. I was expecting him to be beside himself on the phone but he spoke in measured tones, explaining he was trying to remain calm. I don’t remember much of what I said to him – I do remember telling him it was alright to cry and Mom was there for him. He’d recently sent me a picture he drew of Peeves that I’d hung up in my room - he asked me to send it back. He also said he didn’t want me to use the word “dead”.
After Jack I spoke to Isabelle, who told me she told Peeves’ sister about it, and Cole, who asked me if we could go to the pound to get a kitten.
Jack's drawing, hanging in my room before I sent it back.
A lot more words than that were exchanged but I really don’t remember what we said. They were upset and I was in tears. I was sad about the loss of Peeves, who was a very mellow, easy-going cat. I was heartbroken for the kids – I knew this would be hard on all of them, especially Jack.
I also hated not being at home, not being there for them. It’s a terrible feeling to be separated from your family in a crisis, unable to do anything but wait helplessly. I went through this once before when my Cole swallowed a quarter…I was able to make jokes about that because it came out just fine (literally). There would be no happy ending to this story.
Through all this I’m still at work and the day shift is coming on, with assorted higher ranking people coming by the weather desk for an update. I’m grateful that my night shift cohort was still on duty; he handled all the traffic while I huddled over the phone, simultaneously trying to keep my conversations private while speaking loud enough to be heard by my family.
My wife later sent an e-mail to her family…it’s a good thing I didn’t see it until after I was back in my room because it hit me like a Mortal Kombat fatality move (”Finish him!”). It was the description of the funeral service that did me in. Louise later told me they chose a spot by the fish pond because the other cats look out the window at it and will be able to see where Peeves is.
I discovered Peeves under my bed, passed away. I don’t know what had happened, but she clearly had been there for some time. I was really shaken up and called Bobby and asked (begged really) for him to come over and help. He was kind enough to do just that. Meanwhile, I had the horrible news to give to the kids, Jack in particular. He was in denial for quite some time, but after Bobby arrived and he and Cole insisted upon seeing her, they were all very upset. I don’t know if I was right or wrong to let them see her, but she looked peaceful and didn’t appear to have suffered any injury or trauma. I suppose it helped Jack believe that she was really gone. I feel so terrible and hated every minute of it. I never expected such a thing to happen. Ever.
Bob dug a hole for us in the backyard by the fish pond and Jack wrapped her in a blanket he had from when he was born, and we buried her. Iz said some lovely words, Jack and Cole both wrote nice messages on her box, and we put a temporary stone on her grave until we can order a nice one for her.
I sent Paul a quick email and he called later and spoke to all of us. We are all shocked and heartbroken. Everyone is in bed with me tonight.
What did Peeves die of? We don’t know. Our cats are strictly inside cats and are up to date on their shots. She didn’t appear ill and was acting fine up until she went under our bed. That’s not a normal place for her to go. It was all very sudden and unexpected. Perhaps a congenital heart defect, who knows?
And now the mourning and healing begins. I happen to have a copy of our entire digital photo collection here with me so I sent back photos and movies of Peeves. Louise ordered some prints and they’re going to make a memorial photo album. They’ll also order a stone for Peeves from the same place I bought two when my dogs had to be put to sleep (Artistic Etching - the web site is straight from the 90’s but their work is beautiful). Cole made a picture to comfort Jack; Jack made a sign to hang on a tree by where Peeves is buried.
We’re not the kind of people to carry around little dogs around in handbags but we love our pets just the same. They’re cherished members of the family and we all feel sad when one dies. As parents that feeling is doubled for Louise and I because we feel pain when the kids hurt. And for me, well, I should have been there for them.
Up until now I never paid any attention to the calendar…I didn’t see any point in counting days. I’m keeping an eye on it now.
