I miss my Dipsy Doodle Dandy.
This little lady was my best friend for 15 years. I spent 15 birthdays with her by my side; she dealt with the outfits I made for her, the snuggling I forced upon her, and even waited patiently while I snuck breakfast sausage onto the floor for her every Sunday morning (don’t tell dad!).
She was the one I’d go to when I felt alone. When I was 12 and my parents got divorced, I switched to a new school, and life did a 180; she was there. She’d meow at me each morning and every night I’d lay beside her, stroking her midnight black fur as she slept soundly beside me.
After 15 years of friendship, little Miss Dizz was called on home. Two years ago today, my dad called me saying she wasn’t doing well; she was extremely lethargic and the eyes that once held more sass than you’d think possible for a kitty, were blank. I sat with her all day as I waited for my dad to return home from work. She rested on my lap all day; my once spunky Daisy spent the entire day lying still. I didn’t want to admit that she was leaving me; I couldn’t, but I knew the time I had dreaded had come.
When my dad returned home, we rushed to the emergency veterinary clinic after her normal veterinarian said that they wanted to keep her overnight to observe her. I wasn’t willing to let her out of my sight, knowing that this could very well be my last day with her. When we arrived to the clinic, Daisy was poked and prodded. X-rays were done, blood tests were ran; all returned without an answer. The technician came into the room and told us that we had two options; we could spend $2000 in additional tests that may not give us any answers, or we could let her leave us.
I cried at the table knowing damn well I didn’t have $2000 in my account; I would have spent every dime I had if it meant saving her life, but I simply did not have it. I sat there petting her as I told the technician that not only could I not afford it, I didn’t want to put her through more without the guarantee of an answer. She told me, if Daisy were her cat, she would have made the same decision.
They took us to a separate room and brought Daisy into the room, wrapped in a burgundy towel, and placed her in my arms. I held her as they administered the Phenobarbital and her eyes went blank. I closed her eyes after the veterinarian listened to her chest and told us that her little, precious, cupid shaped heart had stopped beating and gave my father and I the privacy to mourn our beloved friend.
We cried in silence as we pet her soft fur. I planted more kisses a million kisses on her little head with my dad’s arms wrapped around the two of us. Two hours later, I walked out of the clinic without my best friend. The drive home was silent and so was the house. I had foolishly expected to see little Miss Dizz sitting by the door, meowing her sassy little greeting, as we walked in.
Tears stained my cheeks as I rested my head on my dad’s lap for the first time in over 10 years. He rubbed my temples and shared his favorite “Daisy Moments” with me; we laughed at how she dove for the piece of T-Bone that flew off of my brother’s plate. How she used to race us up the stairs and lay at the top in her attempt to trip us. How she’d sass my dad back when he would tell her to be quiet 50 times. How she always let you know that she was pissed off by sitting with her back to you, meowing, and then looking over her shoulder to make sure you looked at her.
We still talk about the great times we had with her. You’ll see a dark shadow at the end of the stairs and think it’s her sitting there, waiting for you to walk by to smack your foot. I still find little pieces of her fur at random times. I remember the little sound she’d make when she’d jump onto the sofa as she got older. Knowing her was more than I deserved.
She was a best friend I needed. A best friend I’m so grateful to have had. Winnie the Pooh said it best,
How lucky am I to have something that makes saying “goodbye” so hard?
I think of you always and I miss you terribly, my little birthday buddy.