An Obituary

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WARNING! - This might not be for the faint of heart or for those who are particularly sensitive when it comes to subject matter involving animals and violence.

Buttercup was Larry and Mark's cat. She was also a dear friend to all in the house.

Last night, I awoke to my wife screaming one word into my face: "Buttercup!!!!!"

This was quickly followed by something along the lines of, "She's in trouble! Help her!" My first thought was that she was in a cat fight. Not too uncommon, but the growling quickly changed that thought. (Keep in mind, this whole train of action and thought occurred in under two seconds) Leaping to the window, I quickly saw Buttercup surrounded by two mid to large size dogs. They were biting her, and tossing her around in their mouths. We pounded on the window for a second, but there was no change. So, I raced to the back door, opened it just enough to see out, and started making the best angry barking sound I could. Apparently, that worked because the dogs vanished into the night. But, alas, for poor Buttercup it was too late.

Scrambling to put on a shirt (it was really cold), and grabbing a bo-staff that Lilly handed me (the bo-staff is courtesy of Todd at the moment), I ran out to Buttercup. She was breathing, but, as I approached, it was painfully obvious that it was already too late. She lay there on her side, breathing heavily, and, there, across her belly, was a four or five inch gash. Out of it hung her stomach. We tried to comfort her. Lilly had already called Mark, and both he and Larry came out the upstairs door within a few seconds. Even then, by the time they got to her the breathing had stopped, and her body was growing cold.

The sad event had happened around 4:12AM. By around 4:30 AM, the four of us had ventured out into the cold, pre-storm morning air for a sad and hasty funeral. Larry and Mark dug a small, cat sized hole. And, with a few words about how wonderful of a kitty she had been, what gift from God she was, and how remarkably long her life had been, we laid Buttercup to rest and covered her with dirt, leaves, and dust.

Today, the memories of last night have not ceased in haunting me. I realize with a detached sort of logic that all life on this earth must come to an end, and that this is why our Christian eschatalogical hope is so great. In e-mails we passed around today, we talked about how we think and hope that animals (at least some of them) go to heaven. And we also talked about them having voices there again. For, we know that:

The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.

- Romans 8:19-22

and that the bible says also this:

Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing:
"To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!"

- Revelations 5:13

We all loved Buttercup. Lilly enjoyed very much giving her soft food from time to time. I particularly enjoyed the way she would greet us every time we came home and every time we stepped out our back door to leave. I can say that I felt loved by her when, arriving home from work, she would meet me at my car, walk (more like trot) with me back up to the back door, and generally just enjoy a little bit of loving attention as I would pet her before going inside. She also loved to try to sneak in to our flat. Just the other day, I went to answer the door to let in Daniel. As I was doing so,he was reaching down to pet Buttercup (whom, in her loving fashion, had solicited him for love as well). As I opened the door, Buttercup sprinted inside. She rocketed past my feet, and would have made it deep into the house if I had not called to her sternly. Then she stopped, turned obediently, and raced back outside. I don't know if it was as funny for her, but it left Daniel and I giggling for the next several minutes. Sometimes, we would let Buttercup and Rajah see and talk to each other from a couple of feet apart, and Rajah would certainly watch her from our bedroom window at night. I'm pretty sure he saw the whole incident as well.

There's such a minor bond between Lilly and myself to Buttercup though when compared to what Larry and Mark must have had. I can't imagine all the fun stories they might have. (and, as I write this, it is too late in the evening to ask them) In the winter time, I know she would be allowed in to sleep on Mark's bed. And, as for Larry, I don't know when he acquired her, but I know that the guy who had her before him had her as far back as '94 and '95. I think Larry has had her most of the time since. How many stories must he have of her crazy antics?

She was an old cat, and I guess that when compared to other ways for her to have gone (slow painful ones), this one was probably much better. Buttercup will be missed. She was a gift from God to all who knew her. She was a dear friend to all in the house. She was also Larry and Mark's cat.

"Now, Mrs. Studdock," said the Director, "you shall see a diversion. But you must be perfectly still." With these words he took from his pocket a little silver whistle and blew a note on it. And Jane sat still till the room became filled with silence like a solid thing and there was first a scratching and then a rustling and presently she saw three plump mice working their passage across what was to them the thick undergrowth of the carpet, nosing this way and that so that if their course had been drawn it would have resembled that of a winding river, until they were so close that she could see the palpitation of their noses. In spite of what she said she did not really care for mice in the neighborhood of her feet and it was with an effort that she sat still. Thanks to this effort she saw mice for the first time as a really are - not as creeping things but as dainty quadrupeds, almost, when they sat up, like tiny kangaroos, with sensitive kid-gloved forepaws and transparent ears. With quick inaudible movements they ranged to and fro till not a crumb was left on the floor. Then the blew a second time on his whistle and with a sudden whisk of tails all three of them were racing for home and in a few seconds had disappeared behind the coal box. The Director looked at her with laughter in his eyes....

"There," he said, "a very simple adjustment. Humans want crumbs removed; mice are anxious to remove them. It ought never to have been a cause of war."

- C. S. Lewis, in That Hideous Strength