I picked up a book today that I found in a bathroom drawer, of all places. I looked at its cover and thought, Why didn’t I finish this? The beginning was so good. I flipped it open to the place where my bookmark was, and I had written some notes on the page and underlined some sentences. Next to them, I’d written the date, as I always do, for future reference. The date was December 11, 2013. There it was, in my own handwriting—a regular December day. It was also four days before our beloved cat Ricky died. And I realized that that’s why I hadn’t finished the book and had stuck it in a drawer.
Thinking back on that time, I am so grateful that I didn’t know what was waiting for Monty and me four days later. Ricky was our precious boy—the child we didn’t have. We’d brought him home when we’d been married for a week, so we’d never been without him. It had always been the three of us. And when Monty went to work every day, it was just Ricky and me. For almost eighteen years. On that day four years ago, Ricky was still healthy. He was on thyroid medication and had trouble staying hydrated, but he wasn’t in imminent danger. He still played with his toys, followed me everywhere I went, and purred with his whole body. So neither Monty nor I knew what was coming.
I know the heartbreak of this may sound ridiculous to many people because there are so many worse challenges—and Ricky was, after all, “just a cat.” But not to Monty and me. During the wasted years, the dark years—I clung to Ricky and he to me. There were times when I felt Monty drifting away from me, very understandably, and I needed Ricky more than ever. I believe with all my heart that Ricky’s mere presence gave me a reason to hold on when I couldn’t see or accept love from anyone else. I was so broken and felt so damaged; Ricky didn’t care. He loved me with every bit of his little feline heart, and he asked for so little in return.
If I had known on that December day when I was reading that book that our sweet boy would be gone in just four days, I truly do not think I could have handled it. And God knew that. He knew my heart where Ricky was concerned. He knew Monty’s. And in His mercy and love, He took Ricky from us in one very fast afternoon. One minute, I noticed that he was hiding off by himself and didn’t want me to pet him. The next minute, Monty was on the phone to the vet. Twenty minutes later, the vet examined him and said those awful words I still hear, “I’m sorry.” Not even five minutes after that, the vet gave our boy a shot, and he was gone, almost instantly.
I held him and cried for the last time into his fur. And Monty and I said goodbye to our precious boy. It was one of the most awful days of our life. If I had known for four whole days that that was coming, I can’t even imagine the state I would have been in by the time the day came. And I know God protects us in that way, many times—often times when we don’t even know it. He also made something beautiful out of Ricky’s life and death. Monty and I grew closer than we’d ever been as we grieved for our boy together. And we decided to adopt a kitten. Then another. And another. None of them are Ricky. I will always have a Ricky shaped hole in my heart. But they’re my boys, and I love them dearly. If not for the love of Ricky, we wouldn’t have adopted three more cats.
I’m grateful we did. I’m grateful for God’s perfect timing and for sparing me those days—for taking Ricky as quickly as He did. And I’m beyond grateful for seventeen beautiful years with our Ricky. This one is for you, my precious boy. I’ll love you and miss you always.
Elegy for Ricky
– Renee Adele Phillips
The day after you died
I found one of your whiskers in your green cat bed,
so white, strong, springy;
I couldn’t believe you were gone.
I still hold it sometimes, that whisker
and a clump of your fur, faded to apricot now,
not nearly the brilliant color you were—
the flaming orange of a sugar maple’s leaves
right before they fall
and drift away like you did,
gone with an icy blast of winter wind
leaving me with one whisker, some fur,
and nearly eighteen years of memories of you, Ricky.
I will remember your many moods:
loving and sleepy, rubbing your chin against mine;
irritated and insulted, your tail twitching
like a pendulum in rebuttal
at some imagined or hard-felt offense—
your temper so short, your memory so long.
I will remember you lying on your back in the sunshine,
your belly blindingly white.
I will remember you as my shadow,
filling my arms and my lap for hours,
running beside me from room to room.
I will remember your careful, meditative baths,
your shameless stealing of magnets and ribbons,
of bits of scrambled eggs and potato off my plate.
I will remember you running ahead of me to my desk,
ready to nestle up against my computer as I wrote.
I will remember you playing—in paper sacks
and carefully constructed tunnels under blankets,
chasing shadows, stealing
Christmas balls and hiding them in your secret places,
emptying cereal boxes
and pulling all of my books off their shelves,
twittering at finches at the birdfeeder.
I will remember you waiting around corners
to ambush my feet and wrap yourself in my pajama bottoms.
I will remember you curled around my neck in bed,
making a nest in my hair—
you, Ricky, my constant companion
in joy, in so much sickness and pain.
Most of all, I will remember your eyes:
nearly black in play,
or narrowed to slits of golden green
when you’d tilt your head and look at me,
slow blinks of love light
as you drifted off to sleep in my lap.
And now you have drifted away from me forever,
the brightness of your beautiful eyes
extinguished when they closed that final time.
Do you remember the lullaby
I used to sing to you, my Ricky?
“Close your eyes now and rest;
may your slumber be blessed.”
Your eyes are closed now, sweet boy,
so rest. Rest. And know
I am the one who was blessed
and that, most of all—
more than a whisker or a faded clump of fur—
that I will remember.
“I never thanked you for saving my life.” Lt. Dan, “Forrest Gump”
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Most of the authors I like are mystery adventure conspiracy assassin stories. I particularly like the ones that mix archeology with ex special forces people. The current Baldacci has an ex Spec Ops guy and girl working for a clandestine government organization. Usually fighting terrorist but this time their boss has gone missing.
I’ll have to look into those. My favorite is Stephen King, but I love psychological thrillers of any kind. Michael Robotham has a great series like this.
Thank you, Klara. This one was tough to write. So I understand your friend Darlene. My grandma had cats her whole life, then decided when she was in her early eighties not to have another one, for the same reason Darlene stated. We found her a shelter that matches older, quiet lap cats to senior citizens, and she loved that cat until she died a few years later. One of my cousins took the cat, but the same shelter that works with senior citizens does take them back if the owner passes away–and they match the cat with another elderly person. I do know that animals can take away loneliness almost better than people–though you are so kind to check on her the way you do and simply be her friend. I’m going to pray for her. Thank you for sharing.
Renee, Darlene is only 60, 8 years younger then me but ever so fragile. I wish she would take another furry animal, she needs one to love her. I feel like being her a plush cat cuddly for Christmas? I called 911 on her one morning, not sure what she had taken, I could not wake her?
I care too much to have this happen, yet I can not change what might.
Again, God only can help and I am so glad he both sees and Knows it all so I can sleep!
You are so kind and tender-hearted. And yes, you can only do so much. God has to do the rest.
Renee, your dad Lullaby for Ricky, and Elegy for Ricky are fantastic to say the least. Your command of your words, “Blows Me Away”.To Say I enjoyed these two beautiful pieces o writing, would be an understatement. You are truly a gifted writer. I am so thankful to have become your Friend. Being a Dog Lover, Inreally appreciate your Love for your Cats. I too, have spent final moments in My Dog’s lives .Keep:upmyourvfantastic writings. I will spread The Gispel of Renee everyday. Love ya.❤️
Hal–thank you so very much. I’m glad you enjoyed this one. It was hard to write because the loss of Ricky still feels so recent. Thank you for your kind comments about my writing. I, too, am grateful to have you as my friend. Thank you for sharing my writing with others, as well.
Just my visions of happiness!
Have you already read Gwendolyns button box??? I thought it just came out. I’m reading a Baldacci .. End Game right now.
Yeah, I’ve read the button box one. I’ve never read Baldacci. Is he good? What genre does he write?
Sweet sweet sorrow!! I have dehydrated from my eyes over so so many sweet souls I’ve lost for now. I expect heaven to be a very large banquet of friends and family and the rainbow bridge to be a stampede of my very best friends.
Steve, I love your description of heaven, and it makes my heart less sad. We’ve lost them, as you said, “for now.” Yes, just “for now.” I’m looking forward to the “large banquet of friends and family”–thank you for putting it that way.