Pretending There Is a Star in Me to Be
Saturday afternoon, I had my short memorial for Bunter, scattering his ashes in the back yard near where his brother's are. Above is the video tribute I made to him.
His passing, after nearly 20 years, was peaceful. I found an incredible vet who made house calls and was a poet/philosopher as much as a vet. I won't indulge my readers in all the details of this farewell, except that in his final moments, Bunter let out loud purr as he wrapped his paws around me with the excitement of when we would share a late afternoon together.
He and his brother came into my life in 1990 barely a year old when their first guardian left them with me for a weekend trial. There was no immediate bond, and I was ready to take them back until I saw them staring at me with pathetic longing and I decided to give it another week. They kept their distance from me for at least the first six months. It was close to a year before I heard the first purr directed towards me.
They became a constant during the next two decades, following me to three different states until we finally settled in their native California. (They were born Smith Ranch.)
The bond grew slowly, and when Bunter's brother Whimsey had to be put down two years ago he seemed to assume I was his feline sibling, never wanting me to leave his side. It followed the loss of both of my parents, my aunt and a few friends over the course of less than two years.
So many memories eventually were embedded into their presence -- as much joy as there was loss, betrayal, anger, regret and fear. Their lack of judgment and unconditional love was something that was slowly earned and unexpected. I've struggled to write more about what these two companions meant to me and have feared appearing to be the wretched, crazy cat person as I rhapsodize them. The words haven't materialized, and I apologize for the sentimentality of the video.