Ode

Two weeks ago, we had to say to goodbye to our dear family cat- Gertie. It was a day we all knew would come, but never expected would come so soon. The sadness of it is still sometimes hard to describe- she was our childhood cat and Mom's best friend, and her place in Hoerl family lore will never be filled. Julie and I, of course, weren't there with her, which makes the whole thing a little bit surreal, like she'll just still be there, sitting on counter, trying to eat some butter, next time I walk in the door.

And then it hits me that she won't. That rather than petting her and kissing her precious head and looking for her every five minutes to do it all over again, I'll just have to remember her. But that shouldn't be so hard- she was a very memorable cat.

I believe Gertie was quite possibly the most misunderstood feline in the world. She was loved with vigor and without exception by the four of us, and avoided (and sometimes even- how could it be?- feared) with equal, exception-free vigor by most everyone else. They all know the Gertie who possessed that wicked hiss (which actually more closely resembled a inaudible yawn and was typically followed by a mad, 'fraidy cat dash to safety in our parents room- scary stuff) and who, on occasion, might jump on the counter and stare at you, occasionally hissing, just to mess with you. Because really, that was HER house, and that was HER counter, and those were HER sisters and mommy and daddy, and just who did all those people think they were? She clearly didn't invite them.

Underneath that nasty public face, Gertie was pure mush. She just didn't see any reason to spread her love around- she had to save it all for us, and that was just fine with her. And so the Gertie we know, and will always miss, is the Gertie who insisted on sitting in every box, large or small, that entered the house; that never failed to find a new favorite sleeping spot; that made it her duty to personally test all birthday cakes by sitting on them; that arrived to us wearing the most perfect makeup on her sweet face; that had a bald pink belly hanging out for most of her life; that slept constantly in Julie and my beds for days after we left to go back to school or work; that loved butter and olives far more than any kind of cat food; that had the most unique, and endearing, talent for sitting on her haunches and conducting the orchestra only she could see; that loved Christmas despite its tendency to arrive with the dreaded visitors to her house; and that was the little runt that stole our hearts in a house in Black Forest, CO eleven years ago.

So despite what I can only imagine will be her less-than-perfect legacy outside the four of us, we'll always remember Gertie as our sweet, perfume-scented, lipstick-wearing kitten. And this is my tribute to her.