Elvis and O.C.

I found Elvis in the parking lot of a local redneck bar. He was mangy and hungry. It was obvious to me from his barely hidden ribs that the skinny black cat was an orphan. I gave him a cat call, expecting him to hightail it up into the nearest tree. Instead, he just turned and looked at me. I kissed my lips together again and he slowly and cautiously approached me. I made no sudden movements. When he reached me, I slowly extended my hand so he could check me out. He came closer and I began to pet him. It was August and it was comfortable outside so I just sat out there petting him until I sobered up enough to take him home.

He let me put him in my truck and off we went. When we got home, I took him inside. I dug through the cabinet for something to feed him and found a few cans of tuna. He must have recognized the girl on the can cause he started going crazy purring and meowing. I popped the lid, poured the tuna in a bowl and put it outside on the back steps. The tuna was gone in about 6 seconds and I had a new friend.

I figured if he stuck around, I'd take him to the vet and get him checked out. He did and I did.

He had anemia from all the fleabites he had received over the summer, as well as some internal parasites (that's vet language for $100). It was well worth it.

That skinny black cat became the best cat I ever owned. He grew fat and lazy and perfect. He had the personality of a dog. He would lay on his back and let me pet his belly in every direction. He was the kind of cat you could throw over your shoulders and hike up a mountain.
I named him Elvis after his jet black hair. The hair faded after a couple of years but the name stuck.

We moved to a different house a few years later and my son was born. Around the same time, I was working out back cleaning up some junk behind my house, when I heard a tiny mew coming from underneath a huge pile of construction material. I peered into the darkness beneath and saw two eyes looking back at me. It was a kitten. I love kittens. I tried and tried to get him to come out but he wouldn't. So I took a can of catfood and left it at the entrance to his lair. After a few weeks of coaxing he finally came out. He was orange and shy. He never really grew close to me but he formed a strong bond with Elvis.

At first, he thought Elvis was his mother. We almost named him Shadow because he followed Elvis everywhere he went. He nursed on Elvis for months although Elvis was a male cat. Poor Elvis lost all the hair around his teets from the orange kitten nursing on him. But Elvis was a patient and laid-back cat. He tolerated the orange kitten when most cats would have ripped him to flying fur.

We never could settle on a name for the orange kitten so finally we just called him O.C. (for orange cat). For some reason it fit.

O.C. grew up and never quite got tame. Even in adulthood, he would follow Elvis wherever he went. When Elvis slept, O.C. would crawl right up beside him. Elvis would look annoyed but he wouldn't move away. Occasionally, Elvis and O.C. would fight and Elvis always had the upper hand. He'd make O.C. scream bloody murder a few times, but he'd let him go before he hurt him too much. Most of the time, however, they got along as good as cats will.

Two weeks ago, I received a call from my wife. OC had been hit by a truck on the road in front of our house. I went home and found him, still lying near the road, dead. I picked him up, carried him in the woods, and buried him where he loved to play. I did it out of the sight of Elvis. I didn't want him to see. I was sad. How would Elvis handle this, I thought, as I pushed the dirt onto his lifeless body. How would I explain this to my son? He's only 3.

Over the last two weeks, my son has questioned the where-abouts of OC. He overheard his mom saying OC had been hit. So he's asked me the following questions: OC get hit? That hurt OC? OC got booboo? I reassured him that OC wasn't hurting and tried to explain to him the dangers of going into the road.

Elvis mourned as cats do. He sought extra attention from me. Every time I walked near the door, there he was. Every time I walked outside, he was rubbing on my legs. I knew he knew what had happened. So, I have spent the last two weeks giving Elvis extra attention and love. My son has also became closer to Elvis. He was down to one cat and poured all the attention onto Elvis. And Elvis ate it up. That was a change. Before OC died, Elvis avoided my son like the plaque. But now, he would just sit and let my son put his head on him and hug him, always gentle.

This morning, as I pulled out of my driveway and started up the road, I saw a lifeless black furry heap on the side of the road just a few feet from where I had found OC. I knew instantly that it was Elvis.

I backed back into the driveway and cried. It helped that I knew the routine of burying a cat so that I could just go through the motions. I was so full of grief and pain that going through the motions was all I could do. I found a spot near OC. This time, I dug the hole a little deeper. This was, after all, the best pet I had ever kept. He was my little baby boy before I had children.

I got back in my truck to go to work. I turned on the radio and "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" had just started. I drove and sang and cried and somehow made it to work where I'm writing this Eulogy.

To Elvis and his shadow, OC. You were loved and will be missed.