in memorium

Martyn is dying.  Then again, aren't we all?

From the moment we met him on December 27, 2012, we've been saying goodbye to Marty.  From the minute he jumped onto my shoulder at the rescue and decided that he was the one for our family, it's been the beginning of the end.  

Death, the ultimate equalizer.  None of us can escape it and we all know how the movie ends.  For some of us, there is no fear about death; to me, it's going to be a long, peaceful, beautiful sleep. Other folks, however, hate to even think about the reality of life, often times choosing to ignore facts and face fears.

Watching Martyn sulk around the house, losing energy and eating next to nothing, is beyond difficult because it's excruciating to see a once vibrant creature recede.  It's the same with humans, though, too, because none of us want to see our loved ones in a state 180 degrees from what we remember them. 

But isn't every "hello" just the beginning of a long goodbye?  

To paraphrase "Six Feet Under", everyone, everything, everywhere ends.  Every relationship that we start ends, whether it's by chance or choice; either we walk away purposely or death makes the final decision.

So I say embrace every day with those we love.  It's not a new idea or a novel approach:  If you are fortunate enough to be reading this, to have woken up today with a fresh start, be glad to be able to share another few hours with the animals and people you hold dear to your heart because neither they nor you will be around forever. 

As is so often the case with animals, Martyn chose us.  We actually made fun of his "Glamour Shot" picture on the shelter's web site and felt bad that he was trying to entice people with it! Truth be told we were looking at another cat named Marky, who was a ten ton menace, who would have definitely sent me to the ER because of his dander.

Turns out, Martyn - who jumped onto my shoulder from a cat tree scratching post - would be the one to send me to the Emergency Room!

It was MLK, Jr. Day, 2013, early in the morning, and Martyn, who'd been a member of our family for less than a month, was getting beaucoup love as he rested his torso on my chest.  Then he sneezed, directly in my face, which caused me to be unable to catch my breath.  Although I've always been "allergic" to cat & dog hair, my reactions were usually mild whenever I became overwhelmed with dander.  This was an entirely different situation, though, as I simply couldn't breathe properly.

I wound up driving myself to the ER, where I received a breathing treatment and a prescription for an albuterol inhaler.  When I returned home, Martyn was waiting, unaware that he had caused such a disruption to my day.  We snuggled, and the snuggling has continued for almost thirteen years.

But it's almost over, this relationship that we've had.  I see it in his eyes for sure, but watching his near skeletal frame mope around, looking for food that he can eat that won't pain his mouth, makes me sadder than I thought I could be.  He's nearing the end of that ever precious ninth life, and it's practically unbearable. 

There are so many song lyrics that come to mind right now, but the words that stick in my head are these:  I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss ... the dance. 

As I did when we had to put Savannah and Coal down, and as I really did when BayBay died in front of us, I'll cry.  A lot.  Martyn is more than just a pet, he's family.  And saying goodbye to family is often times too much of a sad reality for us to bear.

But it's life, right?  The circle of life as it's called.

Remember this, though:  A circle never ends.  We will always carry Martyn with us, in our hearts and in our memories.  And life will go on.