Requies-cat in pace: The Mighty Quinn and Growltiggr Q. Cat

by Bernard Brandt

And yes, I know that in addition to an atrocious pun, I have used the third person singular when I should have used the third person plural: requiescant. I resign myself to the not so tender mercies of the (Latin) grammar police.

The point of my telling this, though, is that a bit more than a week ago, Beth’s and my 18 year old orange marmalade cat, Quinn (or The Mighty Quinn) died. He is now buried, as Beth wished, in my mother’s rose garden.

But after Beth’s disappearance and Quinn’s departure, our 13 year old grey tiger-striped cat, Tiggr (or Growltiggr Q. Cat) began to pine. He would only eat a bit of food for breakfast and dinner. He looked sad. I tried petting him, and telling him that I loved him, but that apparently wasn’t enough.

When I came back from my running around trying to save someone from homelessness (see the prior entry), I at first could not find Tiggr. Eventually, I found him curled up in a ball in a corner of the living room. I tried getting him out and putting water and food in front of him, and he drank a little, but would not eat. I stayed up with him until, at about 4:15 a.m., Tiggr breathed his last. I see his still body now. I suppose that he will join Quinn some time this morning.

ADDENDUM: Tiggr was buried near noon today. Over the graves of Tiggr and Quinn, I prayed some of the private prayers for the dead from my copy of St. Augustine’s Prayer Book, as my copy of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer is in a box somewhere. I visited Beth afterwards, but either the drugs, or the cancer, had so confused her mind that I could scarcely understand anything she had to say. I thought it best not to tell her of Tiggr’s death.

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