Yes, animals grieve too
We’re all looking for happier days.
If this doesn’t break your heart, I’m afraid it might be made of stone. My cat Nola is missing my chicken Peanut, who passed on Christmas Day.
I acquired Nola as a kitten five years ago. I’d been recently diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that nearly killed me, and was spending a lot of time at home. My friend David suggested I look at a fostered kitten nearby. Nola was having trouble being rescued at nearly six months old. She’d had a raging ear infection when she was picked up on the streets, and although she was treated for it, her head ended up in a tilted position. I found it charming, and adopted her on the spot.
I thought Nola might be a companion for our older cat, Brows, who mostly lived in the basement, as she was afraid of our corgis. However, Nola wasn’t afraid of the dogs at all. She immediately took up residence on the window seat of our mud porch, where dogs and cat hang out together, waiting for us to come home.
She and our female corgi, Wynnie, play games of hide and seek throughout the house. But Nola is not afraid. And whereas my house chicken Peanut, formerly the Guinness record holder World’s Oldest Living Chicken until her death Christmas Day, could buffalo every other creature in the house - dogs, Brows, and parrots - Nola saw Peanut as another playmate. Whenever Peanut was allowed to roam, Nola was fascinated. She’d approach Peanut, who would try to back her down. Then they’d imitate each other, rolling over, scratching, or strolling in circles.
It has been a difficult week here at Darwin’s Eden. After Peanut died in my arms early Christmas morning, the holiday took a somber tone, to say the least. Michigan’s gloomy, gray winter days didn’t help. As the news of Peanut’s passing traveled the globe, notes of sympathy began to pour in, and they were helpful. Even more comforting were our pets.
Yesterday my husband forwarded an email containing a video of Peanut taken last summer on his beautifully groomed croquet court. She loved it up there - the shortly trimmed grass of the court, much like a golf green, allowed her to saunter around, pecking and scratching, without falling over, as she was sometimes prone to do in her dotage (and as I admitted on NPR, so do I.)
As I opened the video on my computer, Nola was napping on my lap as usual. She very seldom shows any interest in the various things friends send through Facebook or Instagram, not even bird or animal videos. But when she heard Peanut’s voice, she snapped to attention.
At first, she watched the screen, ears up, on high alert. She then rose to look behind the screen, and down at the carpet where she so often played with Peanut. She circled the laptop, and came back to the moving picture, pawing Peanut’s image. I had grabbed my phone, hoping to capture the moment. They are poor pictures and I’m not sure I can include video on this blog, and if not, I’ll post a few captured stills.
Nola began to yowl. A deep, guttural sound that I’ve not heard her make before - not when tussling with Brows, not when cornering the odd mouse downstairs, not when playing with Wynnie. It was a profoundly mournful cry.
She had joined Peanut on my lap many evenings this past month as Peanut began to decline. She curled up with us and watched Peanut sleep, occasionally stretching a furry paw out to her feathered friend. Although Peanut’s absence has left an enormous gap in our household, I hadn’t realized how much we were all affected. Even our parrot Pepper has stopped calling Peanut’s name.
As Nola’s voice rose in volume, I bundled her up against me and held her tight, as my sobs mingled with her cries in shared grief. Please don’t tell me animals don’t feel it. We all do.
Marsi, I’m so sorry for loss.
What a sweet, sweet kitty. My heart breaks for both of you.