PIGGIE
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PIGGIE
aka: Piggie Pot Pie, Piggles

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I grew up in a veritable ark. At one time we had 14 cats, 4 dogs, 6 chickens, 5 goats, 7 finches, 2 aquatic frogs, 1 eel, 3 rabbits, 4 guinea pigs, countless mice, fish and turtles. Over the years I was blessed to have lived with other peoples’ wonderful pywackets (Belinda, Gus, Ali, Tyler & Tang) but I hadn’t had a cat of my own since I moved away from my childhood home. In my thirties, I moved to Raleigh where Tyler reigning by himself. And though I had always wanted a house full of cats, Tyler would remain the only cat in his house.

Then one day, isn’t that how it always starts, I looked out the window and saw our cat on top of the car and I was struck by how big Tyler had gotten all of a sudden. Then I noted that Tyler was actually under the car not atop it. Who was this massive feline posing as Tyler?

Day after day, this huge, gorgeous tabby would visit us, sunning on the porch and hold down our vehicles. Piggie, as I had dubbed him, didn’t attempt to bother Tyler but Tyler was intimidated by his presence, so I would try to run the big boy off with very stern “shoo’s” & “get’s”. It was amazing how bold Tyler would suddenly become as he “chased” away the interloper, as long as I was between the two of them. The two established an understanding and, on Tyler’s side, and uneasy existence. Until one day Tyler died after a prolonged illness. The next day, as I buried Tyler, Piggie, who had been absent for a week or so, showed up and stayed on the car, as if in vigil, where Tyler & I had first met him. The next day Piggie walked into our house through an open door and never again left.

Piggie was the most precious of creatures, always gentle and affectionate. He would come and go as he pleased but never stayed gone for long. Each day when I would return home from work, Piggie would hear the sound of my ’79 Chevy Suburban and appear from out of nowhere. I would drop the tailgate and Piggie would hop in. I had filled the back of the truck with an oversized ottoman. Piggie would lounge on his throne as we backed up the driveway. The truck would remain open all night long from which Piggie would lord over the cul-de-sac. When it would rain, I would stretch a tarp from the Chevy to the fence giving Piggie protection from the elements. I’d often leave the side door open and Piggie would jump into bed late at night. He would either stretch out across both pillows above our heads or lie between my legs—the full length of my legs. I could completely roll over and engulf him in my legs & blankets and he’d never even budge. He was so easy going, so trusting, that if you picked him up and heaved him up on to your shoulder, and you didn’t hold on to him, he’d fly right over you back. He was such a lover.

Now it wasn’t long until a new stranger appeared in our neighborhood. It turns out that Piggie had lived a couple of streets over. Some time back, he had gone missing for a couple of months and they had gotten two new cats. When Piggie returned, he took one look at the new cats and decided to head back out into the world in search of greener, cat-free pastures. Now, just because he wanted to be with us, doesn’t mean he wasn’t missed elsewhere. Every couple of days Susan would come around calling for “Gabriel”. Now that I knew where Piggie lived, I would, reluctantly (very reluctantly), carry him down to his old home. She would take him in and in a couple of hours, Piggie would be back in his Suburban or in our bed. After weeks of this, Susan finally conceded and acquiesced to Piggie’s wishes.

Piggie was my joy. I love getting home to him every day. He knew the sound of the Chevy from blocks away and would always there to greet me. He loved to eat his treats in the truck and in bed. He absolutely adored sushi and would always end up with the lion’s share of my dinner—I couldn’t refuse him. Oh, and salmon and albacore tuna and, of course, ultra thin sliced Sara Lee ham…did I mention his name was Piggie?

One Spring night in 2006, at 11:04, Piggie began to gag and convulse on my lap as I fed him his crunchy treats. At first I thought he was choking. I stuck my finger down his throat to see but found nothing. I gave him mouth to mouth but he only blew up like a balloon. He began to crawl awkwardly in circles. I quickly dressed and raced him to his Suburban and drove him to the vet only a few blocks away. He clung to me as I felt a warm sensation on my chest and shoulder as he lost control of his bladder. When we got to the vet, it was, of course, closed. I just sat on the sidewalk holding him in the moon light as he died of a stroke. After an hour I drove him home, where I continued to hold him for a couple more hours until his eyes sunk into his head and all of the warmth had left his beautiful body. Through the entire ordeal Piggie never clawed, scratched or even meowed—he was precious to the end. Finally, I dressed him in one of my tee-shirts and tucked him into the back of his truck. The next morning was cool and foggy. I greeted him just after sun up, dug his grave and then buried him.

Now I’ve buried many animals and had several people in my life die but Piggie’s passing was like nothing else I had ever experienced. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel happy, or feel anything for that matter, again. It was so numbing to be without him. It took many, many months to feel anything close to “normal” again. It was so traumatic that I vowed two things: never to have a single pet and to have many pets so that I wouldn’t run the risk of being so profoundly crushed again. So far, so good.

FAVORITE SLEEPING PLACE: Across Our Two Pillows, Between My legs

FAVORITE SCRATCHING/PETTING SPOT: Pick A Spot, Any Spot

FIGHTING STYLE: Death-By-Lovin'

OCCUPATION: LoveMuffin

FAVORITE SONG: You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You--Dean Martin

FAVORITE ARTIST: Albrecht Dürer

FAVORITE FOOD: Sushi

HOBBIES: Rebuilding Old Cars

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