If losing Granny a couple of weeks ago wasn’t enough, my pet cat Di-Die-Do died last week at home in Colonial Heights.
An average cat’s life span is 12 to 15 years. “Dido” sailed over 18 this past Christmas, but her health had been failing since the first of the year.
For the past several weeks, she has been too feeble to walk much past my office where she stayed curled up in a chair sleeping most of the day – and night. Occasionally, she would walk along the walls from there to the kitchen for her food, but she had trouble since she started going blind several weeks ago.
It may prove one thing though – I can take care of a cat for 18 years and it couldn’t have been easy.
It was 1990 and I lived with Chris Jones in Mt. Carmel. We moved in together to start a rock band called The Watch. We also had a band called Ahab and The Wailers and had plenty of people passing through the house. It was the Christmas of 1989 that Chris’s red-headed girlfriend gave us a ball of gray fur we would eventually name Di-Die-Do.
Actually pronounced “Duh-Dye-Do,” the name attracted plenty of curious looks over the years. Chris had a cold once and he borrowed the shitck from Bill Saluga, a comedian who appeared on shows like Sanford and Sienfield. His shitck is to become annoyed when addressed as “Mr. Johnson”, exclaiming in a loud voice, “You can call me RAY; or you can call me JAY”, and so on listing other names he could be called, until finally finishing, “but you doesn’t hafta call me JOHNSON!”
Chris’s take (with frozen sinuses) – “you can call me DI; or you can call me DO, but you doesn’t hafta call me DI DIE DO.” I looked at him puzzled the first time too, but it stuck. For a long time too.
Dido was a great companion for us all in that rock-n-roll house in Mt. Carmel. She had two litters of kittens with names like Ocelot, Chadwick and several offspring who went with friends and family. She had nerves of steel too because our house was known to be loud most of the time.
Outside, she loved to chase birds. She was a hunter and some of our favorite times were watching mockingbirds in the summertime, dive-bomb her in the yard while she pursued nests near the magnolia tree.
Di-Die-Do was still surprising most friends who talk about the past, asking, “Is Dido still around?” They seemed surprised when I said yes and the truth is, this cat had more than nine lives.
Besides putting up with me for a full 18 years, she was hit twice by cars, shot at several times and biten by a dog and who knows what other injuries. The last time she was hit, she was so injured, the Vet had talked me into putting her to sleep, but a last-minute effort gave her another 3 years.
This injury caused her to have a limp for several years too, but she made it work for her despite the gimp. I moved out to Colonial Heights, had her a backyard pool and squirrels to chase and she always seemed to enjoy hanging out with me the most. No matter where I landed at the house, she was always nearby and not too close. She hated to be held though – only remote affection at best. A regal cat indeed – David Byrne once said that cats love houses better than people do. Maybe she knew more than me anyway.
My senses are still in a stupor and I’m a bit ashamed my cat’s death didn’t bother me much. Perhaps it’s just another existential moment. Di-Die-Do could never live forever. Who knows? If we ever get good at anything, perhaps it’s practicing the art of letting go.
Change is the only truth I suppose.
Blessings to Queen DiDo. You were a great companion through several chapters of my life. I’ll think of you from the view from my window – a place you seemed to enjoy.