Friday, August 7th 2009
He Was My Homer
As soon as I saw her name on the phone display I knew mom had bad news. After eighteen years of companionship, the last of my childhood pets had to be put down. Homer was one of seven animals that occupied our household throughout the years – the last after Charlie, the dog I got when I was six died.
Homer was more than a cat and as much a part of the family as I was. He even had his own place setting at the dinner table where he would wait patiently in the chair for his food to arrive like a king on his throne. In contrast to this image, Homer was truly an outdoor cat and made every attempt to earn his keep on the homestead. His contributions to the household included came in the form of beheaded bunnies, tufts of feathers and various vital organs strewn about the patio. I know Ma Hazzard wasn’t thrilled with those “prizes”, but Homer was always particularly proud knowing he didn’t come home empty handed. He would charge in, throw himself on his back, do a little jig and then perch in front of the TV and clean himself, basking in his success.
I think he was happiest in the vast woods that surrounded the house we lived in when I was still in school. My brother and I would take off for the afternoon to hunt for toads, set small fires and engage in general mischief. Homer would be right behind use like a golden retriever excited for the next adventure. Unlike most cats I encounter, Homer never ran away from visitors. He would be right there when the first guest arrived to greet everybody with his signature vocal salute and dance. He bravely hopped on the lap of anybody that was seated, making himself a great place to see and be seen, relax and enjoy the gathering.
Homer and my dad were very close, don’t ask me how but those two were real buddies. When my dad was dying at home Homer would hop on his bed completely aware of where the tubes and wires were and would literally tip toe around the medical equipment until he got next to my dad to lay down and spend some time with him. It was clear he knew what was going on and was trying his best to comfort his friend.
It’s sad to watch something you love wither away. As a parent to an animal I can identify with the idea of trying to do everything in your power to make them better. Mom tried all there was to try. It got to the point where there were no vocals and no dance. It had come time to drop the curtain and bid him goodbye. We will miss you Homer Pierre. And when you see Helen, Harvey, Hamlet, Heidi, Rambo and Charlie tell him we said “Hey”.
My deepest condolences. He really was a great cat.
Beautifully written Johnny, it made me cry. Homer lives on in your heart.
Sorry to hear about your loved one. The loss of unconditional love can be quite hard.
I saw you last night at the cafe next to the church. Out of deep respect for those who want their private time to stay private, I didn’t dare say hello.
I just wanted to say it was a bit of a thrill to see you in person and admire you from afar. Hope you had a nice evening.
This brought tears to my eyes too.
It also made me smile at times, like when you talked about Homer having his own place at the family table. And it moved me when you recalled how he would comfort your father the best way he could.
I come from a family of cat lovers (or anything with four legs, wings and/or fins from birds to spiders). As my mom always say: “you don’t own a cat, the cat owns you.” And I know how after so many years, those little fellows become a member of the family, whose personality, tastes and habits (infuriating or otherwise) must be considered as much as anyone else’s in the household. When I lost the cat I had had from age 11 to 27, it was literally like losing a member of the family.
My deepest sympathy to you and MaH, Johnny. Homer must have been one lucky cat, to have enjoyed such a long life in such a loving family.
I hope baby Homer didn’t suffer too long and died peacefully. Pets sometimes can mean more to a person than their own family members.
Frog reminded me of my favorite cat saying: Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.
Thanks for your kind words. Yes, Homer was lucky to have found us and we were just as, if not more, fortunate to have found him.
I’m so sorry to hear about your Homer. You are fortunate to have had him for so many years. That’s wonderful. Sounds like he was a terrific companion and quite the cat. I lost one of my cats a few weeks ago and still miss him terribly. They do become part of the family. My housecat now is 5 and I can see his black silouette as I type this note. What joy they bring. It’s been awhile since I’ve dropped by your blog. I’ve miss you and the Frog, too.
Be well!