sisu

"But the cat himself knows, and will never confess"

"'Politicized science can undo all the benefits humanity has reaped since the Renaissance,' writes Thomas Lifson," we captioned this "ineffable effable Effanineffable" image of the Babe in our April 2006 post "To everything there is a season," adding that "Fortunately, there will still be fresh catnip, if not the dried, processed Nepeta cataria we served Baby Cakes this morning. Above, he sits in a drug-induced stupor after partaking of the weed." Lifson's words resonate in light of the growing recognition by top scientists and a handful of politicians that man-made climate change is a con.

"It isn't one of your holiday games," wrote T.S. Eliot of "The Naming of Cats," and the same could be said of the proper Photographing of Cats. Listen to Tuck's insights this evening as he sits by our side at the computer, revisiting some of Baby's greatest hits and trying to come to terms with his own deep, deep sadness at our loss:

I think Eliot's 'The Naming of Cats' speaks to the way a cat really thinks of himself, and part of the reason why there's such a big hole in our lives is because of your photography and the blog and because they show him the way he thought of himself.

He talked about the difference between our intimate, up-close photographs of the "Decisive Moments" in the everyday lives of the Chelsea Grays vs "amateur snapshots":

Amateur snapshots wouldn't have done that. They don't do the cat justice.

"Nobody takes cat shots like yours unless they work for Hallmark," he quips. "Your photographs are like Eliot's poem."

Update: "One of the reasons Baby's loss leaves such a void is that, thanks to your exceptional documentation of his life, he has been a real part of our lives … we people of the Bloggy-Sphere," writes Elisson in the comments:

Though I never met him, I can almost imagine having done so. You have given us all a great gift, a mirror of that greater gift the Creator gave us when He placed Baby on this tiny (!) spinning planet. A fine photograph captures the evanescent light of a single moment. You've captured many such moments … and for that we thank you. May those moments — frozen, now, forever in time — provide a source of happiness and comfort to you and Tuck, and to everyone else who knew the Babe by proxy.

Wow. As our sis just said in imail, "He said it just right. I hope that Tuck can hang on to that. Baby had a life well lived."

"It really is all about the love"

"Baby behind a kitchen-window screen, staring at his sister outside on the terrace, could almost pass for one of those abandoned kitties left behind by a flood-fleeing family, waiting to be rescued, except that we cannot imagine leaving our animals behind were we forced to flee our home for whatever reason," we captioned this evocative image of the Babe back in September of 2005. You remember. "Bush's fault!"

"And again, with your amazing Chronicles of Baby and Tiny, you have given a great gift to all of us," imails our sis as we reflect upon the good karma just sent our way from Carol Ward, our dear friend and fellow ailurophile from just down the pike across the Mystic. First, listen to Carol's tough love in the comments:

You are right: there will not be another one like him. And that is as it should be. You had both the responsibility and the gift of The Babe: to take care of him during his time on earth. And part of that was to let him go when his body said it was time, to not hold onto him for you. (I remind myself of that constantly when Snowball becomes unwell …)

A fast-growing tumor said that it was time, even if it wasn't the right time for you.

I am sure it is hard (editors note: tears starting now, keyboard out of focus), but try to be grateful for the twelve-year gift that was Baby Cakes, that unique large ball of fluff and love.

No, there will not be another one like him. But some day there may be another one, with its own special feline-ality, who needs Sissy and Tuck love just as much. It really is all about the love.

"The Babe and the Duncan Phyfe chair — classical beauty seeks its own level," we captioned this image in our April 2006 post "A major and lasting influence."

"Of all the wonderful things that have been said, it's maybe one of the most helpful," says Tuck:

It really helped. Baby was a gift, and we had both the responsibility and the gift.

"Susie notes the 'Don't mess with me' gaze Baby and Condi share when dealing with recalcitrant turf challengers," we captioned this portrait pair in February of 2005, observing that "Lucianne's caption under Condi's photo applies equally to Baby Cakes: 'Dr. Rice will entertain an extremely brief question.'"

Back to that imail conversation with our sis:

She: Remembrance of the ones we've lost, and a reminder of how we keep them, always, in our internal album of portraits. I am thrilled that you finally got an acceptable response from Angell. It reminds me of what Dad said about his own doctors … a FABULOUS guy, but unable to keep track of his inept "front line." Again, the only way to deal with the loss of someone so beloved is to give THANKS for the time you shared.

We: Yes.

She: The blessing and the curse of loving so much. I also agree with Carol in this way … right now, I feel as though I will never get another pet, it's just too hard. And yet, I know she is right. it can happen again, at any moment.

"Baby grants us an audience in the dining room just after sunrise, where photo ops are coming out of the woodwork as feline magnificence interplays with early-morning light," we captioned this image from that same post of April 2006.

"He helped build a whole world of friends we never had before," says Tuck:

It's your blog, but all these wonderful people that we never knew before, and the Babe had a big part of bringing them to us.

And your photographs are beautiful. Just outstanding. I think you could make any puddy look good. I admit that Babe gave you some advantage, but I really think it's your photography. You capture the moment. Your photographs speak so much to the puddy's personality, and in the case of Baby, to the gravitas. You know, how he always looked a little bit cross [see "Don't mess with me" above], as if "Why are you taking my picture, and do you have an ID?"

Another tribute just in from blogfriend Steve of Modulator, the blogosphere's Noah of the Friday Ark.

Essence of Baby Cakes

"Baby (foreground) and Tiny (just above the Babe's left ear, background) are with Australian Prime Minister John Howard -- big time -- on the War on Terror, better known amongst the denizens of field and forest as the Relentless Drive to Continue the Bloodline," we captioned this fearsome image of the Chelsea Grays in our July 2005 post "Where every democracy is heresy," explicating that "Howard won the hearts and minds of not only the animal and plant communities but also the entire right side of the blogosphere the other day with his rousing Churchillian response to a clueless 'reporter's' insinuation that the recent London terrorist attacks were 'caused' by Tony Blair's embrace of 'Bush's war' in Iraq.

It's time for another infusion of Essence of Baby Cakes. Herewith a republication of "You and your pussycat toes" from last June. He was vintage Baby, full of life and gusto till very near the end when he was having loud nasal breathing and difficulty eating. But first, this note. We had a phone call this afternoon from Angell Animal Medical Center's Dr. Erika de Papp, DVM, Service Director of Internal Medicine, to help us manage all our questions and regrets. 'May blog in detail later, after she talks with various supervisors about our concerns and has them get back to us. For now we want to report that unlike our experiences with some of the people on the front line when we took our beloved into the emergency room Sunday morning — and in follow-up yesterday when a Supervisor on Staff called to give us a meaningless 'apology" and bloodless description of cremation options — Dr. de Papp had the bedside manner we longed for and was able to give comfort. Now for that republication:

Early morning fog finds Baby Cakes outside in the yard, lord of the manor, master of all he surveys.

Back inside, fearless Defender of the Faith transmogrifies in an instant to Mr. Cuddles, master of the laptop.

A little more to the right, please.

Update: Lots more feline transmogrifications at Carnival of the Cats #224 at Victor Tabbycat and in loving memory of Bonnie Underfoot.

"There'll never be another one like him"

The irreplaceable Baby Cakes from our March 2006 post "Did He who made the lamb?" Update: Another tribute, this from blogfriend Kim of Musing Minds: "Our companions know when we aren’t feeling well, be it physically or psychically, and they try to make us feel better. Poor Tiny doesn’t know why her brother is gone or why her “Mom” and “Dad” are feeling so bad. But she’ll try to make them feel better."

"He was a prince. There'll never be another one like him," Tuck is saying, inconsolable at the sudden, unanticipated loss of our precious, precious Baby Cakes, longing to have him back in his arms for one last sweet whispering of love in his ear. The love was mutual, big time. In homage to that love, a republication of our September 2007 post "Male bonding :"

Normally a desktop user, the Babe made an exception this afternoon, choosing Tuck's laptop for an extended cat-whispering and paw-kneading session.

A little more to the right, please. Tuck knows what a pussycat likes.

"I love the way his tail tip is running through your fingers and the look on your face," we told Tuck. "You look as pleased as he does." His rhetorical response: "What do you expect?"

Update: "Great photos catching the expressions of both Tuck and Baby," writes Goomp in the comments:

However, I think it is species bonding rather than male bonding. My Lucie and my Purrky are of different sex but they both love to bond with me in the same manner as Tuck and The Babe.

He's right, of course. Just ask Tiny. We were only trying -- as always -- to get a catchy headline.

"He has the most gravitas of any cat I've ever known"

Thank you from the bottom of our heart to all who have commented and written heartbroken and touching tributes to our boy. This one just came in from blogfriend Barry Campbell: "I hope you can take comfort in knowing that being a cat in your household has to be one of the very best situations in the world, for anyone, and Baby got to enjoy it for quite some time. Be extra kind to yourself, and Tuck, in the coming days."

"Born a cat, died a gentleman," wrote our sis in the comments to "The saddest day" yesterday, citing for our precious Baby Cakes the William Penn quotation Tuck had suggested nearly fifteen years ago for the "Service of Thanksgiving for the Life of Mary L. Jameson" when our mother died:

And this is the comfort of the good, that the grave cannot hold them, and that they live as soon as they die. Death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.

"He is risen" Easter 2008 portrait of His Magnificence.

"Further to the passing of the estimable Baby Cakes over this past weekend," wrote our dear friend Gayle Miller with similar thoughts in the second of two tributes:

I have had people say to me in the past, “He was ‘only’ a cat!” to which I replied then and would reply now that our domesticated animals have been and continue to be a gift of God …

I think that, in many ways, our interaction with our domesticated friends brings out the very best in our souls. And so, when a beautiful creature like Baby departs our midst, we are diminished in a very painful and very real fashion.

"It's the closest I've ever seen to a cat's looking like Winston Churchill," Tuck said last year of the Babe, foreground in the Bachrach-like sibling portrait above, with Tiny's Madame Thatcher behind.

"He sure was more than just a pussycat," an inconsolable Tuck is telling us as we revisit images and words celebrating the life and times of our irreplaceable Baby Cakes through five years of catblogging, starting in December of 2003.

"He has the most gravitas of any cat I've ever known," Tuck famously said. In this image from March of 2007, dignity fully intact even as he dangles in Tuck's grandfatherly embrace, the magnificent Chelsea Gray had ventured untethered onto the front porch just after a major snowstorm, "whereupon Tuck went out and fetched him back inside, his giant paws fully snowbound."

In homage to that incandescent light, a republication of our June 7, 2008 post "It is no longer a fact but an opinion" below, but first this latest insight from Tuck:

Baby had no toys.

In contrast to Tiny's appropriation of borrowed, battable elements like balls and kitchen items into her art, with Babe, as Tuck has said,

I can't think of another cat who has so much ceremony. Everything is prancing and robes and sceptres. He's very friendly and very nice, but it has to be within the rules of the court.

Not that he was immune to the occasional crazy hour. Now here's that republication from last summer, "It is no longer a fact but an opinion":

Found objects — in this case, local TV sports graphics and Tuck's model of "America" — become "attributes" illuminating the character of the portrait sitter. Being a cat, Baby doesn't pose, of course. Instead, among the series of quick shutter clicks in the course of a given photo shoot — if we're lucky — we capture Cartier-Bresson's "Decisive Moment." Above, a portrait of Cakes embodying the Olympic ideal, as described at The Olympic Museum website:

Identification of the athlete by his nakedness, a sign of balance and harmony — Gymnasium and palaestra: the education of the body and mind — Hygiene and body care.

On the other hand/paw, "A portrait is not a likeness," portrait photographer extraordinaire Richard Avedon is said to have said:

The moment an emotion or fact is transformed into a photograph it is no longer a fact but an opinion. There is no such thing as inaccuracy in a photograph. All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.

Pallywood enablers, take notice.

More found objects — this time of the "beauty in unexpected places" variety — a DayGlo® orange football appearing to rise, moonlike, atop Tuck's wall outside the kitchen window, the window's white molding suggesting the fluting of an ancient column, the daybreak glow of a light underneath the cabinet creating a halo effect behind Baby's head — become the surrealistic attributes of a cat of mystery [Is there any other kind?]. As regular readers know, Baby Cakes always plays his cards close to the chest.

Attributes? Who needs attributes? The silky peaches-and-cream Sweet Tiny Pea is mistress of her universe, always in control, mysterious and loving it. Here atop the compost box behind the house, she keeps an eye out for intruders. Neighborhood cats, skunks and raccoons have been known to pass this way, with varying results, not always to Tiny's advantage. Never one to cut and run, she, like her brother, is stalwart in her efforts to defend the home turf.

What was that? Body language itself becomes an attribute as Tiny shifts from "Guarded" to "Elevated" alert.

Then, at something cats see or hear that we don't, on to "High" alert.

When the people's dinners arrive — usually about an hour after the animals have had their fill of catfood — "High" alert turns to "Severe Risk." Above, Tiny (left) and Baby focus all of their resources on the threat — the danger of not getting Tuck to surrender some of the food on his plate.

The Think System never fails to deliver. Baby's tastes are cosmopolitan. The Pork Suzette would have to be first among equals, but he is not one to say no to Corny Cornbread Minis, Potato Meltdown, Sweet Potatoes Puree or even frozen peas!

What's the matter with kids today

"A shuffling in the predawn darkness. Baby's got a mouse," we captioned this image of our late precious boy three years back, exulting in the happy fact that "Baby Cakes hits the big time with his first [unsolicited] InstaLanche": "Some first-rate catblogging from Sissy Willis.

"Baby held our hearts in his paws, too," writes Connecticut Yankee Betsy Frey in the comments to our earlier post, "Baby held the blogosphere in his paws," opening our eyes in a subsequent email to "what's the matter with kids today." It had struck us in blogging today that some of the bright young veterinarians at state-of-the-art Angell Memorial in Boston come across to us folk of a certain age as cold and detached, greeting us not by taking our beloved animal in hand to get a "feel" for what might be ailing the beast but rather, by ignoring the pussycat and heading straight to their laptops to input our answers to a series of bloodless questions and perhaps call up some notes from the database. Betsy Frey had this to say:      

A thought came to me when I went out for a walk about an hour ago that perhaps the problem with the clinical detachment of the vets you encountered at Angell is a generational issue, at least in part. I work as a freelance academic editor, and I remember being told by an in-house editor who has never met me face to face that I must be over 50. When I asked her how she knew, she said, "Because you have a feel for language that I find only in people who grew up with books rather than computers and word processors." In other words, there's a hands-on dimension to editing that comes only from many years spent reading books that one holds quite literally in one's hands. I think the same is true of medicine, both human and veterinary. I don't think it's an accident that both vets who have cared for my kitties are between 55 and 65 — that is, they received their basic training before the computerization of medicine. I wonder whether the vets at Angell who caused you such understandable distress are young, possibly still in their twenties or early thirties?

Yes, although Dr. Williams and several of the emergency doctors we found so empathetic these last few weeks at Angell were youngsters, too.

I'm attaching an article ["The Lost Art of the Physical Exam"] from the winter 2009 issue of Yale Medicine (the alumni magazine of the School of Medicine} that I copy edited only a few weeks ago, in hopes that it might be of some indirect comfort to you (as well as legitimate concern about the current state of human medical diagnosis). I'd forgotten about the article until your post today about the lack of a bedside manner in Baby's last days. Please take very good care of yourself (and Tuck, and Tiny) in the coming days — grief can take a real toll on your energy and immune system. Once again, God bless.

Thank you so much, Betsy, for your kind thoughts and provocative insights. More insights on this Brave New World from related imail with our sis this evening:

We: Egad. A totally awesome note from one of the readers. I've stumbled onto something big.

She: Indeed, you have. Keep on the case!!! It's not so much PC as the computerization of daily life. (As you and I communicate by instant-messaging). As I said the other day, I love writing handwritten notes to people, and everyone in the room looked at me in shock.

We: YES. It's HUGE, now that you mention it.

She: Putting pen to paper is far different from dashing off a quick e-mail. For one thing, you use up a lot of paper, what with mispelings [misspelling intended], etc.

The laying on of hands isn't just for religious believers any more.

Update: Hope springs eternal in the Goompster's heart in the comments:

Yes, the computerized world has lost the human touch in many cases, but a world of warmth and sympathy has also appeared in the blogosphere with the passing of Baby Cakes.

As our mother always, always said, look to the animals.

Update II:  Cat Blogosphere dedicates Carnival of the Cats #250 to "The Babe, Sissy’s cat who has been with the carnival from the beginning and is known and beloved by all who see him." Thank you so much.

"Baby held the blogosphere in his paws"

 

"Baby Paws polishes his weapons of choice early morning after an extended -— disproportionate? — night out in field and forest down Goomp's," we captioned this image of our own baby boy two years back.

A lovely tribute from Pam:

Baby held the blogosphere in his paws. He helped sway opinion, debut recipes and usher in holidays. He will be missed.

Big time.

Update: Our darling Laura Lee shares our sorrow:

Babe along with his sibling, Tiny have been the sweet stars of Sissy’s blog, sisu and her whimsical photography and writing about the two zany and beautiful kitties have always brightened the darkest day for many.

"Oh, Babe, I will miss you."

Update II: Our precious Teresa offers fond remembrance:

A lovely kitty, most regal. He even favored me with a stroll across my lap once. I will always remember him fondly.

Such a boy.

Update III: Our darling blogdaughter Pat carries our sorrow:

My dearest, ever-loving BlogMother has suffered a terrible loss, and our world is bereft of half our daily kitty-fix.

Please visit and offer condolences.

Lord, we love our little pets too much.

Too much? Oh, no. Never enough.                   

Whatever happened to the bedside manner?

"Babe occupies the co-pilot's seat as Tuck takes the helm for our return trip from Christmas Central — Camelot-by-the-Sea — back home to Chelsea-by-the-Sea," we captioned this image of our beloved in our post "Baby is my co-pilot" four years back, noting, "The wind- and snow-swept causeway that connects Goomp's idyllic Western Point to greater York stretches ahead with salt marshes, harbor inlets and tree-covered isles and land masses in the distance."

"If I were a doctor, I would immediately take the animal out of the carrier and hold him and try to get a feel," we imailed our sis this morning, trying to come to terms with the MSPCA doctors' apparent cluelessness in the last few weeks and days in diagnosing Baby's illness:

I just haven't been able to find a vet I truly trusted, other than Tiny's Angell vet, Dr. WIlliams, since our beloved Chelsea vet, Dr. Lewis retired a couple of years back.

We noticed a psychological detachment in both the internal medicine doctor who took over Baby's case from Dr. Williams a couple of weeks back and the doctor on call yesterday around 3  a.m. when we arrived with our precious boy at Angell's emergency room when he was presenting with strange, unprecedented breathing sounds.

Want to know what was so wrong about both doctors' approach?

Instead of taking the animal in hand and getting a "feel" for what might be wrong, both spent minute after minute typing things into a laptop computer as they asked us questions and referred absent-mindedly to data on file. (We remember saying something specifically about Baby that the emergency doctor completely missed in a requestioning. A stressful job, but she is supposed to be the professional. It didn't inspire confidence.) That is so far removed from what we would look for in a healer. Is this coldness where political correctness and technology have taken us? These doctors are supposed to represent the cutting edge of veterinarian medicine, but do they? Whatever happened to the bedside manner? Dr. Williams has it in spades, as did several emergency doctors we saw in the last couple of weeks, but the two doctors whose names we will not mention here to whose care we entrusted our beloved Baby in his last hours and days on earth were coldly clinical.

We: It's making me wonder whether PC and all other things modrin have infiltrated the veterinarian educational system.

She: TOTALLY!!! Plus, they have the Messiah complex, and love to have you pay thousands of dollars so they can play with their new technologies.

We: Yah. The CAT scan last week, even as a simple thorough dental exam yesterday apparently revealed the problem.

She: It seems so ridiculous that they never looked at the whole cat, and as you said, tried to "get a feel" for what might be wrong.

We: I know. Am trying to think of how to handle this. Should I blog about it and send to the powers that be at Angell? I want to talk with Baby'e internal medicine doctor first … left a message for him to call … Will he try to justify?

She: BUT, I will say this to you, Darling try not to beat yourself up over the "what-ifs." Re: what should you do? Wait a few days and then do what feels right for you. I definitely sense that blogging about it will help you, and  am sure you will get many substantive comments.

We rest our case as of now. Tiny senses we are upset but doesn't understand why. Also, all superstitious attempts to ward off heartbreak didn't pan out.

The saddest day

Our Baby is gone. We'd thought it was just a variation on the feline asthma theme his sister has had for years, but no. It seems he had a fast-growing tumor on his palate that was compromising his breathing. Had to let him go. Hearts breaking breaking breaking. Born in our attic closet twelve plus years ago and weaned on our heart and soul. When we left him this morning at Angell Memorial's emergency room 'round 5 a.m. we gave him a cheek cuddle and said we hoped we'd see him soon, but Tuck, our ever-faithful driver and cat whisperer in residence, assumed we'd be seeing the little fellow at the end of the day and never had a chance for a final farewell. His heart is breaking. Tears without end.

Thank you, Elisson, for your loving tribute.

Update: Many more touching tributes in the comments.

Chrismas eve will find me*

We opened a bureau drawer this morning to put away some clothes and noticed out of the corner of our eye that TIny was quivering with excitement. Her eyes feverish with anticipation, she lept up and settled herself in with extreme self-satisfaction amongst the white linens of summer.

"Perhaps the world crisis that is affecting so many families and all of humanity could be the stimulus for rediscovering the warmth, simplicity, amity and solidarity which are the very values of Christmas," we cited Pope Benedict XVI the other day in a post trying to make sense of our "first-time failure to buy any Christmas presents this year." Or, as Wal-Mart, beating the pants off the competition, puts it, "Save money. Live better." Then our sis-in-law happened to mention she was going to stuff the Xmas stockings of her grown daughters with things she already had on hand, like wonderful books she's read and jewelry she no longer uses that might appeal to young women their age. The concept must have percolated in our brain overnight 'cause this morning inspiration struck in a small but kind of nice way. The result was the Corny Cornbread Mini-Muffin favors pictured above, each made up of a plastic tea box containing two CC Minis wrapped in the wax-paper "beggar's purses" we'd invented for a hostess gift last summer and topped off with a festive swath of iridescent ribbons. We'd saved the little boxes just because they were so cute and elegant.  As our sis always says, "Everything happens for a reason."

As we started gathering packing boxes preparatory to heading Down East with our moveable feast for Xmas Eve at Goomp's, the Babe moved front and center. The sequence was classic: Place a box on the counter. Whole being of cat lights up with a frisson of excitation. Cheek meeping outside corners of box commences. Cat jumps into box and claims it as his own. Tiny and the bureau drawer, above, come to mind.

Earlier atop the dining room table, excitement built as Tiny explored the utensils toys we had laid out to facilitate our preparation and presentation of the coming meal provide her with playing opportunities. Above, the camera's eye caught Cartier-Bresson's "Decisive Moment" as the meat thermometer (lower right) hung suspended in air after being plucked up by the Giant Paw.

*Blogpost title is part of "Christmas eve will find me where the love-light gleams" from our sis's fave, "I'll be home for Christmas."