Rotten
Rotten knew his owner was gone and went through a period of mourning
DAVID TAFFET | Senior Staff Writer
taffet@dallasvoice.com
We grieve for our pets when they die. They’re our family, so of course we go through that period of mourning for them. But this isn’t about people grieving for their pets. This is the story of a pet grieving for his owner.
Rotten, an orange tabby, was about eight years old when my husband, Brian, died last year. He saw Brian pass out. He watched from a distance as I attempted CPR while waiting for 911 to answer my call. He kept an eye on paramedics trying to revive Brian and saw them carry him out on a stretcher to take him to Parkland.
When I got back from Parkland — alone — later that night, Rotten already knew what had happened. When he saw me come home alone, he ran under the bed and began to cry.
Rotten was always a one-person cat. His relationship with Brian pre-dated mine, and he always resented me. He never figured out how there could possibly be enough room for him along with two people in that little king-sized bed. He’d jump up, walk around the bed and then jump off, frustrated.
And he never cared for the way I prepared his dinner, even though it came out of the same can Brian served him from. He preferred waiting for Brian to feed him and would turn up his nose at whatever I put in the bowl.
A few weeks before Brian died, Rotten was lying across the bed from me while Brian was in the kitchen. I called to Brian and said,
“Come here. He’s purring.” Brian came in and shrugged.
“I never heard him purr before, have you?” I asked. Brian walked back into the kitchen to finish whatever he was doing. Apparently, he had heard Rotten purr lots of times.
Over the first week after Brian’s death, I tried to get Rotten to come to me. I tried calling. I tried food. Nothing worked.
At night, Rotten would sneak out from under the bed to use his litter box and to nibble just a little. And he’d creep around the house, searching.
As he walked around the house, he’d cry. Not just a little whining cry — a loud, sobbing, couldn’t-catch-his-breath wail. Nothing would comfort him.
That went on for a month. He lost weight. And he didn’t want to be consoled — not by me, at least.
If I slept on Brian’s side of the bed, Rotten would jump up excited. When he saw it wasn’t Brian, he’d jump off and begin to cry again.
After a month, his crying began to subside. I tried to stay on my side of the bed, and he began sleeping on Brian’s. His appetite began to return. But he rarely came to me.
Several months later, I was lying in bed watching TV, and Rotten was on the floor glaring at me. I was thinking about Brian and thought about how he would call Rotten. Rotten was thinking I shouldn’t be on Brian’s side of the bed.
“Up, Up, UP,” Brian would say, patting the bed seven times as he said it with his voice rising on the third UP. There was a rhythm to it.
Those pats went: ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three, ONE.
Rotten jumped up onto the bed and did something he’d never done before — he curled up in my arms and purred. Over the next few days,
I tried calling him again the way Brian used to do.
“Up, Up, UP,” I’d say while patting the bed seven times — not six times, not eight — and he’d come.
I realized I had finally figured out what the cat thought his name was. I guess he never cared for the name Rotten.
Six months after Brian’s death, Rotten’s period of mourning was finally ending. He was bonding with me. He seemed to understand I was missing Brian as much as he was.
Most nights, he curls up with me now, but he’ll only sleep on my left side — Brian’s side. I’ve tried curling him up on my right, but he just can’t figure out how that could possibly work, and he storms off annoyed.
I know better than to try that anymore.
And he responds to his name — Up, Up, UP — even without the seven pats now.
……………
Give A Fetch
On Sept. 22-23 from 10 a.m.-3 p.m., Camp Bow Wow will place a seven-foot tennis ball dispenser that holds 1,000 balls in Klyde Warren Park for “Give A Fetch,” an event promoting responsible pet ownership.
For every ball dispensed, Camp Bow Wow will donate $5 to the local shelter of your choice, up to $10,000. Food trucks, shelters and vendors will be at the park. Win a free year of camp services for your pet.