Victims of cancer are often said to have “lost their
battle”, but in your case to say such a thing would denigrate your very
existence and flail wildly at the loincloth of truth and decency without
simulated foreplay beforehand, nor a crisp Travellers' Cheque to breed
enthusiasm.
In much the same manner as the seminal Walter White, your
illness never truncated your rapier persona, nor ravaged your ethereal beauty.
You remained your own man - beholden to none; unique; the
devil in black.
As I joyously observed you blossoming from an ungainly ball
of curiosity into a lean thrill-machine, you transcended societal norms of
pet/owner subservience, teaching me how to love something far beyond that of
self, and thus stimulating oft-neglected parts of my own fabric - engendering
reflection and subsequent change for the better before I had even grasped such
concepts.
In my earliest memories of our time, your generosity of spirit was already plain for all to see.
Strangers were anything but as you made yourself available
to all of them - your burgeoning handsomeness no barrier to these
great-unwashed as time after time you welcomed their caresses and reciprocated
with unadulterated affection.
I for one will never forget our earliest times together,
feeling your profound warmth as you nestled against my leg when we
collectively retired of an evening.
0300 awakenings I shall forever treasure, each time
repositioning myself without ever waking you as you dreamt in your infancy, your
face the very essence of tranquility.
Impromptu wrestling matches became nightly events in our
first months together, my hands bearing the fine scars of honourable battle
with great frequency.
Even though you were outsized, you were never outmatched as
your cunning and agility left me recoiling many-a-time from your razored teeth
and manic claws.
Respect quickly grew between us, and you became a source of
great pride - a hairy son, even - but I never once discounted you as a
possession or trophy, because in truth you were, and still remain so much more
than that to me.
Before I had grasped your development, suddenly as if from
nowhere you had become a young man - your desire for adventure growing by the
day as hanging from the curtains and screen-door provided diminishing
satisfaction and the primal call of the outdoors manifested in wanton gazing
from the windowpane for extended periods.
I returned from my daily misadventures to find your
smouldering eyes piercing me from your perch as I prepared to enter our
communal shack, knowing that it was time to allow your rightful passage.
Your grandmother noted as such, having spoken to you on many
afternoons as she gardened and humoured the voices.
“He wants to be outside, Stafu” she said.
Standing as a father-by-proxy watching these first tentative
steps around the yard was an honour, basking in the shared warmth of the
sunshine engulfing your immaculate coat, and thrilling by association in the
exciting aromas of the various plants surrounding you as your senses ran wild.
Like all great beings, timidity was rapidly replaced by a boldness
as I observed your taming of the great tree before you as though it were
nothing more than a shrub to catch your potent urine; a new perch for you to
whimsically observe this world from.
In truth, you were always one step ahead, if not more, such
was your intuition, and I will always remember the inaugural occasion when I
left you to your own devious devices, returning later in the day to implore you
to return to me, only to be silently mocked by your indomitable form as you
patronised me from the rooftop well into the night.
I begged, I scowled - but to no avail, for you had become
autonomous.
Regretfully, I retired for a few hours, rejoicing when I
awoke to find you sitting at the door awaiting my forgiveness - something you
never once needed to ask for.
You returned to me, inhaled your morning meal and joined me
in blissful dozing - something that was to define your elegant economy-of-being
until the fat lady crooned like so many other departed geniuses.
Our first year together passed expediently, my life enriched
by your every moment and alarming metamorphosis from cherub to mini-panther.
It may have been transcribed previously by some utter
lunatic on this very page, but the comfort you provided when a beautiful young
man perished by his own hand cannot be adequately summarised with these words,
nor a Jpeg, nor even the most lurid link to a scheiße site, for the simple act
of sitting with you of an evening, daring even to cradle you at times provided
untold relief at such a confusing and difficult time.
Thanking you is not enough, for I fear I may not ever be
able to truly demonstrate what your life and friendship meant to me, however I
am determined to try, even if I merely tattoo my favourite limited-edition anal
beads with your charcoal likeness.
Reports of your initial illness devastated me when you were
but 1 year into this life, having observed your lethargy after being left
bloodied and beaten in an ambush-bumming by another jealous and vindictive feline, hence seeking medical intervention to revive you, rather than begging
that which does not exist for assistance.
Your durability now beyond doubt, you somehow slammed
death’s door back in her grim face and recovered with unbelievable speed.
I too felt the shudder of the entire suburb deep within my
waters as you returned to devour it.
Your mother was immediately enraptured by your charms, inexplicably
returning to your father after the initial Rohypnol-courtage, perhaps if only
to experience the honour of meeting you, and better-yet gaining your friendship
- a commodity that cannot possibly be valued by even the most cutthroat of
capitalists.
As the finest of things, your brand merely grew as the
months and years elapsed - an indelible mark had been etched across the very
soul of all whom came to know and appreciate you.
You were, and shall remain a throwback to easier times - an
innocence lost almost entirely in this austerity.
Visions of you fill my being merely days after your passing,
spanning the breadth of your radiant green eyes as you sat in the fresh air
each afternoon; your paw resting gently on your mother’s hand as you both slept
of an evening; battling you late at night in futile attempts to capture and
feed you, skinning knees and self-esteem as you evaded my desperate lunges.
Above all I will remember your power to render language
obsolete when we held each other’s gaze for an age - my existence validated as
you saw me not as flesh and bone, but as an equal.
Oversexed Afro/Italian-Americans and hauntingly-beautiful
shaven Irish women may have beaten my musings by two-decades or more, but truly
nothing compares to you, and in all probability never will.
You, my boy, are a once-in-a-lifetime friend and a love I
will never experience again.
Irrespective of what you felt in your final days, please
know that the treatments you endured were approved only as a means of extending
your time here and not borne of selfishness, even if your last month was a
downward-spiral and I saw in your eyes that you needed to leave.
Questions will forever remain regarding the decisions your
mother and I made throughout your illness - most without objective answers -
but in time I hope that they will prove to have been just.
When you died, a part of your mother and I did so
simultaneously, never to be replenished by the finest alcohols nor tobaccos,
but in time we will be left with only smiles and gratitude for the overwhelming
privilege of your company.
I have long-dismissed the notion of heaven, but now find
myself hoping more than ever that such a thing exists, for the prospect of my
early doom no longer horrifies me knowing that we may be reunited.
You will greet me in a field, once more in your prime where
I will chase you until you submit to my desperation in pity, allowing me to
cradle you in my arms again and caress your divine pouch.
Rest now, and rest well you handsome devil - please know
that you will be missed beyond compare xx
Beautiful.
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