Jason’s blog posted
On January 16th, 2011
At 1:42 PM
Lizards. The favorite snack of my cat. I’m tempted to upload a video of him eating all but the tiny toxic bit, what I make up must be a lizard large intestine. It’s anything but large – these lizards aren’t dinosaurs, they’re the garden variety. 6, 8 inches max.
The January weather has come back around to the way I love it so in San Diego. Our equivalent to winter is wetness and that seems to have all dried up. Warmth becomes us and the lizards emerge to the concrete surfaces, lifting their heads high, gazing directly into the blinding glow of their sun God.
The lizard scene on my patio would probably look like the buffet variety at The Souplantation to my cat, but he is no where to be found. The lizards are smug if not smiling.
In early December, my feline friend who goes by the single syllable name of Holmes (which I read later is not a wise choice in naming a pet - Grouping two syllables like Rover or Peanut is easier for an animal to distinguish when they are called or spoken to, especially between other commands we throw at them, i.e. No, Come, Sit, Stay, etc.)
In early December, Holmes began to sleep between Tristan and I. We found this adorable and would both split the bed to make room for him. After years of him only sleeping on the passenger side of the bed and me getting tendonitis from sleeping on my right side to spoon him, this was a relief and a blessing from perhaps the Christ of the Kingdom of all that is cuddly. It was like he was crawling over me to see TP (my nickname for Tristan.)
He began every nap kneading our doughy blankets and drooling on them before twisting himself into a pie shape, flopping his belly weight and arms and head onto some part of our body. With us he could once again sleep in a litter.
On the evening of December 23rd, I ran out of my house without petting Holmes who was napping on my bed. I only yelled from afar, “Goodbye Holmes. I’m going to ask TP to marry me now!”
When I returned home later, he was gone.
The story I make up is that he saw in TP what was good for me, and that of 12/23/10 his mission was accomplished. In the weeks leading up to my engagement to TP, Holmes spent much time with her, acknowledging her beauty and strength while snuggling up to those qualities in her that complete me and give me the greatest joy.
If Holmes is Love, and Love is omnipresent, then Love in our house has simply shifted into the sacred version TP and I experience with each other.
He was a service cat. He would take care of the mice that imposed upon our castle and bring us dried lizard pieces from his outdoor collection. At dinner he would sit on the counter and watch our cooking show; his eyes following utensils throughout a recipes’ design and would occasionally run off to play with a twist tie from a freshly undone Kale.
He was quiet and super mellow - never bit or scratched anyone. If you picked him up, he’d be yours for however long you wanted to keep him. He was Holmes, the cat that wanted to be in the room with you no matter what you were doing. When I lived alone, he made solitude less scary.
For many, he was the cat that made them a cat-person. For me, he was the cat of my dreams, and he will be loved and appreciated forever.
All owls and coyotes aside, I don’t get the feeling Holmes is deceased. I sense he is now being of service to another family and I find that to be quite noble. In this, he remains regal and wise, a beacon of patience on the scratching post of love.