Harpo

Obvious Love & The Loss of a Pet

Our cat, Harpo.

I have lost so many loved ones in my life and yet it never gets easier. It shouldn't. The act of loss is one that is deep and painful and it should feel like the first time, every single time. For me, this is the first time I had been present during the loss of a pet and it hit me in a very new, fresh, painful way. Last Friday, we lost our sweet cat, Harpo, to a fast moving cancer. We had only found out the diagnoses two weeks prior and only a few weeks before that did she even show any signs of concern. She was 15 years old and filled with so much love and affection and pure emotion I had never imagined a cat could have. You could see when she was jealous of one of her siblings or longing for a snuggle from her mom or ready to smack the shit out of the dog. That last one was always pretty easy to spot though.

Harpo came into my life five years ago, when I first began dating my wife. We Brady Bunched our four little fur babies all together. She had Harpo and Toulouse, siblings from the same litter, one dilute tortie and one maine coon mix. I had Yoda and Molly, a chihuahua pug and a calico cat... not from the same litter. It just happened to be by chance that every one of our pets were the same age. Meaning that now we unintentionally run a senior pet facility. I was worried about how they would all get along and it was a little rocky at first but soon they'd find a routine. The routine usually was Harpo and Toulouse sticking close together, while Yoda stayed by himself (aka wherever I was), and Molly moved between everyone creating only chaos in her wake. Yoda and Harpo had the hardest go at getting along and occasionally interactions would end with a scratched nose, hurt feelings and someone being in time-out.

It was really important to us that each of the pets felt like they could get the same kind of love from us that we would give our own. We wanted them to know that we saw them as ours and as time went on we found a rhythm. Many nights Harpo would join me as I took my pills. She would meow and paw and beg for pets and love while I did my best not to choke on my medication. Toulouse would rush over for lap time every single time I'd get in my wheelchair to do any task. Yoda would seek protection and comfort from Carey whenever their was a thunderstorm and Molly would want affection any time Carey was in the bathroom -- cause she's our little weirdo who has a deep obsession with toilets, showers and sinks.

The first time I really felt like Harpo saw me as her dad was when Carey had to leave town to film a movie. Over the course of two weeks, Harpo clung to me so much that if an outsider came into the apartment to observe us, they'd assume I had birth her from my own womb. From the moment I woke up every day until I laid my head down at night, Harpo was right there with her squinting eyes and soft rumbling purr. I had never experienced that kind of love and yearning and need from a cat -- sorry, Molly. She quickly took over being my baby and promptly told Yoda he needed to step aside, which of course caused more fights. Harpo didn't have to tell Molly that she was the new cat love in my life because some days I wasn't even sure if Molly knew that she was suppose to love me. Just kidding... sort of.

I didn't question Harpo's feelings for me in those moments because it was an obvious love. That was Harpo. She could read your face and you could read her heart. When she was stressed she would pull her fur out, when she was happy she would flop her tail, when she was filled with love she'd melt into your arms and when she was angry, she would growl in a way that could make you pee yourself (mainly Yoda).

When we found out we were having a baby and the signs of Carey's pregnancy became more apparent, Harpo was right there every single moment. She would spend her days laying on Carey's belly purring and we always joked that she knew what was happening, but it wasn't really a joke because she definitely did. It was clear. It was very apparent. It was obvious love.

After Milo was born it only became more obvious. She was the first one to make herself known to him and would stand guard when Carey would breastfeed. Eventually, once we began letting the animals back into the room with us, she would place herself at the foot of the bed and watch Milo sleep every single night. He was her baby. Of course, we had a cover protecting the bassinet but she was the actual protector. If he fussed and cried, she would rush over to Carey and begin nudging her, letting her know that she needed to check on the baby! She took her position as Nurse Harpo very seriously and I'm sure she thought we could have been doing a better job.

Like I had mentioned earlier, the cancer moved quick. We had received the diagnosis in early July and got her immediately on steroid pills and IV fluids which seemed to do some good but only for a short period. It had only been about two weeks before we realized we didn't have much longer with our girl. The night before she passed away her back legs gave out and she could no longer go to the bathroom on her own. To comfort her and ourselves we wrapped her up in cozy blankets and towels and laid with her in our living room late that evening. With all the other pets gathered nearby and Milo in our arms we played calming music and tried our best to create a peaceful environment. As peaceful as you can with a three and a half month old who doesn't yet have context for what is happening around him. We hugged her. We kissed her. We laid beside her. We tried to squeeze in every ounce of memories we could.

Eventually, we moved into the bedroom and got Harpo settled between us. Even in what would have been the hardest moments for her, in her life, she was still focused on making sure Milo was okay as he fussed to get to bed. We reassured her he was fine and tried to get her to rest. A little while later, she would take the remaining energy she had, pull herself to the other side of the bed toward Yoda, and in what will be a memory that stays with me for my whole life, she would lay her head on him and snuggle. As already stated, these two were not best buddies but I think she had always wanted to be. I think her anger toward him was always a deep desire to connect but they couldn't handle sharing the spotlight. They were the most similar. Our two neediest babies. I'm so grateful that he allowed her this act of kindness, forgiveness and they had the opportunity to make amends. They'd lie there for a moment of peace just before she'd move a few inches over to watch Milo sleep soundly and then request to be brought down to the floor.

After a long goodbye that we never wanted to end, Harpo passed away at 6am the next morning. Carey held her in her arms, laid beside her, kept her comfortable and calm right until the end. I had never experienced so many emotions in a single moment. This deep pain for the loss of Harpo, this intense love for my wife and how amazing and nurturing and beautiful she is to be so generous and open-hearted with her emotions. This anger at losing our girl too soon when we had all these ideas and dreams and images of the future ahead. We wanted to move her into the new house we just bought, with big windows and bright sunlight that we knew she would adore. We wanted to watch her following Milo around making sure he didn't get into too much trouble. We even wanted to take on the responsibility to care for her in this hard, intense time. We were ready for it, especially Carey, who had prepared herself for the long road ahead. The long road being the few months we were told we could have with her. Instead, we laid there in our bedroom and wept deep pools of tears while holding Harpo and each other.

For me it was five years of love but for Carey it was fifteen. We discuss it endlessly but even with all the words we've accumulated, I still cannot comprehend the feeling of that pain which has no true definition. But, when Carey is ready to compile it all and share, I can guarantee you it will be the most beautiful thing you've ever read.

And now here we are. It's not even been a full week. We've tried our best to continue on with the chores and the work and the keeping ourselves a float. We have to. Not just for ourselves but for Milo. He needs us to be there for him, to fill his days with the love, attention and silliness that a three and a half month old requires. Harpo would want us to be present for him and we are, but she still finds her way into our minds through each day. Whether an accidentally slip of her name when I'm calling the other cats or seeing her stuffed cupcake on the bed that she loved and carried around like a baby. She is everywhere. As painful as that is, it is also a comforting kind of pain. Its reminding me that life will not allow us to forget her. She is everywhere we need her to be and we can keep her memory alive through writing about her, talking about her and taking care of Milo to the standards that Nurse Harpo would approve of. Nowhere here do I talk about the difference between losing a human and losing an animal and that's because we lost a loved one, which means they are the same. Losing a pet doesn't make it easier or less important.

Harpo was one of our babies and she is not forgettable, she never will be, because she is obvious love.

RECENT POSTS: