Hallie and the hoover

I miss Hallie. She was a cat. She was a beautiful gray can with huge green eyes and she was one of my first babies. We got her from a lady I worked with to keep another cat company and it was true love from day one. Of course there were times that she made me angry- like when she would claw the furniture or consider the floor an appropriate litter box. BUt all in all, she was a great cat. A real snuggler and purrer.

She started getting frail last year in the fall. Her weight dropped and she was so tiny. But, she was still spry and could jump on the counters and enjoyed going outside so I figured she was feeling ok. I don't speak cat. I couldn't ask.

But then the day came. She just seemed weak I decided it was time to send her off to kitty heaven, vet style. Thats a tough decision to make but when its time, you just know it. And so I called the vet and made the appointment. And I was sad.

My husband went home for lunch and called me immediately. "Hallie is gone". "gone??? what do you mean gone? Did you let her out of the house in the shape she's in??? What were you thinkin???" "no, Kristen, She died. She's lying on the couch". I went straight to my boss and told him I had to leave. One- I was sad and two- I didn't want the kids to come home to a dead cat on the couch. I mean, where would they sit? So I left work.

It was with a heavy heart that I entered my house. Hallie had been part of the family for 18 years after all. I walked into the living room and there she was, lying peacefully on the couch. I walked up to her and she really looked like she was just asleep-just with her eyes open and her lips pulled back in a grimace. Ah, mother nature, rigor mortis had set in and she was stiff as a board. I leaned down and closed her eyes with my hand, amazed at how cold she was. She obviously had been gone for a while. I tried to fashion her mouth into some semblance of kitty smile but that just wasn't happening so I let it go. As I pondered how i was going to fold her up into a curled position so I could bury her- she was legs straight out and absolutely unposable- which would have required a bigger hole than I had bargained for, I noticed something.

Now when a ship sinks, the rats jump ship. Apparently when a cat dies, the fleas do as the rats. With no source of nourishment, they bid the host adieu. (I wasn't aware she even had fleas...she never scratched or had flea dirt on her) AT any rate, my poor Hallie. THis was such an undignified situation. She was such a loving cat, so sweet and affectionate. I couldn't allow these fleas to act in such a disrespectful manner.

My first thought was to bathe her. I mean, people bathe the dead before they clothe and bury them. Its been customary for centuries. But the thought of dunking my dead cat and then having to blow dry her in her stiffened position gave me pause for thought. And then I knew. The bissel. I know I said Hoover- hoover just sounded better- but in truth we have a bissel. So I pulled out the old vaccuum cleaner and went to town. I took the hose and as respectfully as possible, I vaccuumed those fleas off my poor dead cat. Now when she was alive she would never have stood for this- but being that she was no longer walking among the living, she was quite agreeable. I hosed and hosed making sure her fur didn't get mussed, until I got every last flea off of her. And then I stopped and realized just what I was doing. Vaccuuming a dead cat. REally? What had I come to I turned off the bissel and sat there for a second. Then I giggled. I was vaccuuming a dead cat. Who in their right mind does that?

So I gathered my wits and lovingly wrapped her up in an old receiving blanket and put her in a bag and took her to the back yard where she joined the ranks of our other treasured pets who have passed from this world. None of them had been as lovingly prepared for burial as my Hallie cat. They were all wrapped in blankets and bags too, but none had been the recipient of the pre-burial bissel ritual. I still giggle when I think about it. And I consider my behavior when its my husband's time to go- not that he has fleas of course, but it seems like a good custom. (unless I go first). I reckon I'll have to stock up on vaccuum cleaner bags and hoof it down to the funeral home before they get hold of him. Somehow I don't think they'd approve.