Well, it’s his loss. The soup is filling and delicious. As I am eating it, the phone rings. It’s my sister Jean to tell me that Gracie has died.
Gracie is my parent’s Abyssinian gray cat. Five years ago they adopted her; she was already about five. It was instant love.
I grew up with animals in the house.
The first one I remember is Louella, the boxer who was afraid to go down stairs, but could easily go up them. Then there was Heidi, a beautiful little dachshund who was eaten by a bigger dog when she was vacationing with us on the Cape. Next came a miniature poodle, Claudine Jeannet, aka Dini, (named after Jean Claude Killy, my idol in 1968). Then the standard poodle Mandy, (who was returned after a month; she was too rambunctious, and ate every non-food article in the house). And finally Princess, the German shepherd watchdog at my father’s plant. He used to bite people there. I’m not sure what criteria my father used in deciding she’d make a nice house pet, but he brought her home one day and she never bit anyone of us. Though she did scare visitors, the mailman, and anyone else who happened by.
We also had several cats, starting with Jasper, and followed by Shadow, Marlin (a gift from my friends Marcie and Linda, thus the name), and Henry. But no cat ever captured the heart of my parents the way Gracie did.
When they first took Gracie home, she already had a name. Abby (short for Abyssinian, I guess). But given that my brother-in-law is also named Abbey, and is not an animal lover, my parents changed her name. And Abby became Gracie.
She was truly beautiful. Sleek with big green eyes. And graceful. She would walk along the tops of bookcases and tall wall units with the agility of a trained acrobat.
She adored my parents, and they her. On visits to the Cape, we would listen to stories of Gracie’s brilliance (“look how guilty she looks, she knows she shouldn’t be walking on the kitchen counters.”). Or her cleverness (“isn’t that smart the way she uses her paws to get cat cookies from the bag of animal treats?"). Or her perceptiveness ("she recognizes the sound of Jeannie's car and knows that Daisy {my sister's loud and lovable airedale} is almost here"). Or her loyalty (she would sit every day with my father as he watched television from his favorite chair). It didn’t matter that Gracie wasn’t the friendliest cat. She easily hissed, with little provocation, to the rest of the family. When we'd tell my dad, I honestly believe he thought we were making it up. Hissing? Not his Gracie.
My brother-in-law and nephew came down to the Cape today and helped my parents bury Gracie in the back yard. My father is quite broken up. My mom is too, but she was always more able to laugh at the jokes we would sometimes make about Gracie’s genius-level IQ.
They are already talking about getting a kitten (“a dog is too much work”). I hope that happens soon, as I know a new animal will bring them much solace. It’s very sad to lose a pet. That’s one reason I haven’t yet gotten one.
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