Thursday, March 19, 2015

Throwback Thursday - Maury

Last week was one of those tough times you'd rather forget, reminding us of how short life is and how we're all getting older whether we succumb to the aging process or not.  While the new face cream that costs more than my first car may help with the wrinkles, it doesn't alleviate the pain and suffering we endure as we lose those we love.  Maury, a cat, was loved, more than she realized.

If Maury hadn't been at death's door, she would have surely died.  Her sister was a bit stronger and faster, surviving the chase in the dilapidated chicken coop one dreary October day in 2003, losing in the end, as she surely didn't have a chance as a sickly unwanted feral kitten.  Maury lost the battle, with us, but won the war.  We took her home (we weren't living on our farm yet) after a trip to the local vet, who chided that she wouldn't survive the five-hour drive, only to meet vet number two who said she wouldn't live through the week.  Happily, both were wrong as Maury lived for 12 years in two states.  Life does come full circle as she's now buried in the same hallowed ground that her sister is likely in somewhere on our Virginia farm.

When something or someone dies there is often regret.  Not the kind of regret that you wished you hadn't enjoyed that last glass of wine the night before, or you shouldn't have bought that ugly green dress on sale after all, but the kind the lingers inside like an ulcerThis is the worst kind of hangover, it's terminal, there's no cure and it never leaves you for good, cerebral baggage if you will.  That's how I feel about Maury, the dilute calico, that's what the vet termed her unique color, and I wish now in retrospect that I had outwardly loved her and doted on her like I did with some of our other cats (we have several).

Maury was not maltreated, just the opposite.  She dined on grilled chicken and processed ham and turkey, her favorites, had regular shots, was wormed and "Frontlined" like her unrelated siblings and slept indoors or out, her choice, with the run of acres of farmland full of mice, birds and other temptations.  She never wanted for anything but she was a loner. Her early life seemed to dictate her behaviour for the rest of her days, for better or worse.

(Maury and Morgan, 2011)

She didn't ask for much, so we didn't give very much.  She wasn't needy or vocal, she wasn't the type to jump in your lap everyday for a facerub.  She lived her life in the shadows, you knew she was there but you didn't have to acknowledge.  Now I ache when I don't see her in the mornings and when the sun finally warmed the earth earlier this week in a brief show of spring, Maury would have been lounging in a chair on the patio where remnants of her grayish fur still clung to an old cushion.

Many tears have been shed this week and many more will flow but somehow I believe that Maury is watching and  Love all of your animals please!


  1. Dear Ann, I am so sorry for your loss. I know from experience how difficult it is to lose a loved furbaby. I hope you take comfort in knowing that you gave her the very best life on her terms. Sending good thoughts and hugs your way. Barbara P from Ma

  2. My sympathies on the loss of Maury. I've been there myself: it's not easy.. They become family and when they die it takes a bit of your heart...

  3. So sorry for your loss. Sending {hugs}.

  4. Awwww I'm just reading this now.... I'm so sorry. Beautiful tribute.
    - Linda, ny


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