I’m sure I ought to come up with some more formal, dignified, and appropriate way to phrase this announcement, but instead I have the Skinhead Hamlet as an earworm:


GERTRUDE: (Looking out the window) There is a willow grows aslant the brook.
CLAUDIUS: Get on with it, slag.
GERTRUDE: Ophelia’s gone and fucking drowned!


The Shakespearean Heroine has gone and died on us.  At least it was quick, and she was very old (probably 19 or so), and had lived years beyond what she would have if she had not joined our household.  So we are shocked and sad, and yet not surprised, and certainly not so grieved as for the Scot, who seemed to have been cut down in the flower of his days.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember a suitably dignified bit of verse with which to memorialize the Heroine.


20 thoughts on “There is a willow . . . .

  1. So sorry. Losses in the furry family leave a space in the house out of all proportion with their size… but at least she seems to have had a long and happy last-part-of-life with you

  2. I’m very sorry, Dame. 19 or so is a ripe old age for a cat, and speaks well of the care she received in your household, but still it’s never easy to see them go.

  3. Sorry to hear about this, Dame Eleanor. It’s hard to lose a beloved companion.

  4. A friend of mine also said goodbye to a very old kitty this week. I said goodbye to my special kitty not long ago. 19 years is an amazing amount of time to have a kitty-cat, and I’m sure it’s strange and sad to be without her. May she RIP, and may your heart be filled with other kitty-love. ((DEH))

    1. We got her when she was 12 by the vet’s estimate, so it wasn’t her whole lifeime. She was starving from untreated thyroid disease, but very purry and nice. Once the thyroid was treated, she turned into a b-i-g girl. Then we found her hormones were out of whack from an incomplete spay job, and I said we couldn’t let her live with constant PMS. In the course of fixing that, the vet found intestinal anomalies that proved to be cancerous, and so we treated that, too . . . and she made her tumors disappear. I thought the Heroine was SuperCat.

  5. Oh, I’m sorry. Poor kitty. I’m glad that it was quick, and that she had such a fine long life–but it’s always hard. Take care.

  6. Thank you all for your condolences. It is really nice to hear from you. We certainly still have plenty of cats, but it seems odd not to have the Shakespearean Heroine around. I’d started feeling like she was getting close to a plush toy—she didn’t move around much in the past week—but even slighly animate plush toys take up physical and emotional space.

    From our description of what happened, the vet said her heart just gave out.

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