Essay

Cats and Dogs. And not raining.

Those little fuzzy comets. Whoosh, like trailblazers they land into your backyard and piloted by your son`s or daughter`s desperate pleas they find an asylum in your temple of cleanliness. In the world of mathematical sterility, order and calculated benefits. And before you manage to gnash your teeth their feline and canine eyes melt your heart on a frying pan. You wake up and they take you out for a stroll , so you don`t gain that beer belly, they carry you to the horizon where the Sun cuddles the tree tops slowly burning the horizon and lifting itself on a podium of platinum Olympia. With tails the wipe your morning oats and cup of milk, and their spirits wipe your headaches right over that freshly mown lawn and your anger, anguish and routine roll like a tumbleweed to the hell somewhere in remote corners of Sahara. You have found an ignition in your eyes, the sparkles , the snap and the revolutions of a supercharged engine. The boyhood, the age defying enzyme ,and you both with the tail wagging quattropod laugh at death and the scythe she carries to intimidate you becomes a dogbone easily to be crashed in an afternoon rugrats party.

But there cometh a day, when together you can`t stay. See, the almighty has predicted that some will age faster, like sheep the Dolly. I know , I know, the tears to be shed, I will skip that part, for it might break someone`s heart.

Like your mom, the day she passed away, you desperately wanted to pay her back, leaned to her coffin and even didn`t realize that you owe her more than can be fathomed. In a last attempt of a paycheck day you caress her graying hair and kiss goodbye. Zillions of ifs, and if only… And you can`t and won`t pay. To heal the bleeding wounds of conscience you raise your daughters and sons and stepchildren paying the interest with extravagant journeys, gifts and reading folk tales and bedtime stories. And somewhere deep you surmise that they would return a favor. Some day. But they won`t. At least not to you. To their kids, yes, but not to you. That will be your payday, clearing the debt.

Nor will you ever pay back to your canine friends, and cat the meow. The ones, that paraded your front doors, and you invited them to your duvets, Iranian carpets, seemingly insurmountable curtains , to your kitchens, the magic sounds of screeching refrigerators, the sounds of fresh murmuring milk in their small bowls and your heart, where they kept dwelling even long after in a last sigh they said goodbye to you, my friend. Before the gray cat the Whiskers kept staying longer on the windowsill, before his eyes seemed to be filled with fatigue and resonated thank you , long before you noticed him walking slower and enjoying less the playfulness of life, long before he had given himself to belong to you. My owner, member of my family. How they heal the hearts of those children, the lonely , poor and desolated! Moms the workaholics, dads the alcoholics and brothers irrelevant, the little ones found an escape in their leashed buddies. They kept themselves attached to those little heart throbbing fuzzballs. Like a thistle, they attach their little naïve paws to your heart, and once a day comes they have to go to better hunting fields, they rip out your hearts. In big chunks and shreds. Those eyes of lost hope, being eaten by cancers and destiny, the white walls of hospital and grandpas` last journey in a rocking chair. But they always could count on those wagging tails while on their last trip. Grab the Lassie tighter, the Rin Tin Tin closer to your chest. Please! Even when you were outraged and kicked him in spine, when you yelled and ignored his Teddy bear and tight sleep bone, when you forgot to take him out and he stood like a man for a day or two, your friend in his heart still forgave you. AGAIN, AGAIN AND AGAIN. And again. When many of you throw them out on winter streets, their hearts still belong to you and while you take comfort in your own emptiness, they tremble and shudder at the place you left them. A day , another , and another. While those little hearts keep throbbing , you keep on living on the throne of civilization. Higher than lions or tigers would dare to dream. Until a week or so later they cease to exist. Silently going away in oblivion of injustice.

You be blessed my little friends, whether pedigree or not, whether sitting on gravestones of your owners and waiting, or pouring love into someone`s cup of life. You be blessed, the wet and homeless, scuffing rainy streets in a last hope for home, the tripods of car accidents, the one eyed victims of your neighbors cruelty, you be blessed the dirty, starving and smelling. You be blessed, for you hearts are whiter than a dove out of a dishwasher. People, you shall never be dogs, nor should you bark, or dig holes in backyard. But if we build monuments for our dogs and cats, and leave them inheritance, and look at their photos for now and then, if we hug them and comb, laugh together and share food and moments, I might guess, that we see the unseen. Like the Little Prince. Blessed be those that can see, the cats and dogs. And rain between…. Written by Jurcix, Nov 2008