Sweet Boy Chaco, February 22nd, 1996 — June 25th, 2009, Minneapolis, Minnesota, BlackBerry Shots, December 2009, photo © 2009-2010 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Sometimes you mark the passage of time by the death of a beloved pet. It’s been a year since we made the tough decision to let Chaco go after a brave battle with kidney disease. He was born February 22nd, 1996; Liz adopted him from the Golden Valley Animal Humane Society in April. If you had to choose breeds, Chaco looked like a cross between a Bombay and a Havana Brown. He loved vanilla yogurt, batted at his water dish until it was bone dry, purred like a 1969 Chevy Camaro, and talked incessantly (but not quite as much as a Siamese).
The eve of June 25th, 2009 was a sleepless night. Chaco spread out over the couch on a white blanket next to a wrapped bouquet of tickseed, spiderwort, and Queen Anne’s lace Liz picked from the garden. We took turns sitting with him. When Liz went to bed, I got up and nestled beside him, stroking his back and chin, silently crying. It’s a gut-wrenching decision to choose to put a pet to sleep. It all comes down to quality of life.
On the afternoon of June 25th, Chaco stared up through the ash tree on our deck, his emerald eyes wide and curious when Liz carried him to the Saturn for his last drive to the vet. In August, we donated bags of saline to the Golden Valley Humane Society in his name. By December 2009, we spread his ashes around the circle to the drumbeat of Winter Solstice.
If you’ve never lost a pet, it’s hard to describe the mourning. Or the space that opens up after the time spent caring for a chronically ill cat is finally over. But I can tell you that Kiev and Mr. Stripeypants mourned; they moped around the house for weeks. And Liz and I cried 1000 tears. Chaco’s death left a hole in our lives.
I can also say that life goes on. Hearts heal. And words of grief and loss are sometimes best left to the poets. When Liz read Charles Simic’s poem Little Unwritten Book at our Poetry & Meditation Group last week, I cried another tear — 1001.
LITTLE UNWRITTEN BOOK
Rocky was a regular guy, a loyal friend.
The trouble was he was only a cat.
Let’s practice, he’d say, and he’d pounce
On his shadow on the wall.
I have to admit, I didn’t learn a thing.
I often sat watching him sleep.
If the birds tried to have a bit of fun in the yard
He opened one eye.
I even commended him for good behavior.
He was black except for the white gloves he wore.
He played the piano in the parlor
By walking over its keys back and forth.
With exquisite tact he chewed my ear
If I wouldn’t get up from my chair.
Then one day he vanished. I called.
I poked in the bushes.
I walked far into the woods.
The mornings were the hardest. I’d put out
A saucer of milk at the back door.
Peekaboo, a bird called out. She knew.
At one time we had ten farmhands working for us.
I’d make a megaphone with my hands and call.
I still do, though it’s been years.
Rocky, I cry!
And now the bird is silent too.
-from WALKING THE BLACK CAT, published by Harcourt Brace and Company (1996)
Chaco Dust, Minneapolis, Minnesota, December 2009, photo © 2009-2010 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, June 29th, 2009
-related to posts: Chaco’s Creature Comforts (10 Cat Care Tips), From The Earth, Back To The Earth , Winter Solstice — The Quiet Strength Of Bear, Life Of An American Green Tree Frog, Children Helping Children (And Animals)
redravine.wordpress.com 
This is a beautiful tribute of that greatest of all creatures. I’m sure so many of us so understand your feelings. (((hugs)))
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*Hugs*
As Anhinga already wrote, this is a beautiful tribute.
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Thank you so much. I really appreciate each of you stopping by. And your big hugs. I feel warm when I think of Chaco, up there somewhere, smiling down. He’s in a better place. *And* I miss him. Holding both of those things is the real trick, I guess. It’s got to be one of the hardest things to do, to decide to put a pet down. Recently, a family member lost his dog, Curley Sue. She was getting up there in years and died peacefully in her sleep. I have to say, I don’t know many pets who die in their sleep that way. It seems so much more peaceful. Thanks again!
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RIP, Chaco. I remember reading about this last year. And QM, you deserve endless credit for making such a selfless decision. It couldn’t have been easy.
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I thought of you and Liz on June 25th, remembering the day in 2009…first Farrah died, and then Michael Jackson, and (somewhere on that timeline)…Chaco.
It was good to hear Liz read the poem twice at poetry group, wasn’t it? She read it well…and no wonder why. Sweet Boy Chaco.
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Scaramastra, thank you so much for saying that. I appreciate it. I think the strange thing about making decisions like that is that you are making choices about whether a being lives or dies based on what you think that being’s quality of life to be. It’s tough to know where to draw the line. I know we did all we could for Chaco. I’m glad I can live well with the decision we made. Thanks again!
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Teri, Liz did read the poem well. And, I have to tell you, I didn’t know she was reading that particular poem that night at Poetry Group. And when she was done, I did tear up for Chaco. Poetry can be so powerful.
One thing I appreciate about the way you lead our Poetry & Meditation Group is that I know you put much time, thought, and effort into choosing the poems that each person will read, keeping the reader in mind. When you send my poems, I know you picked them out especially for me. That’s just so cool. In this case, this Charles Simic poem fit Liz perfectly.
Thank you for remembering Sweet Boy Chaco. You also planted a tree in his name. : – )
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QM, I agree that this is a very loving tribute to Chaco. There will always be that empty spot in your hearts, but what you & Liz did was truly a final act of love. I’m sure Chaco knew that. Hugs to you & Liz.
BTW, the photos & poem are just perfect for this post.
We just recently came across Ebony’s memorial card from her cremation. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was from Abbey Glen Pet Memorial Services. Odd that we named our next pet Abbey.
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alittlediddy, thank you. Much appreciated. Wow, isn’t that wild that you named your next pet Abbey? A tribute that came about unconsciously. You must have come across the Memorial card when you were getting ready to move. I remember Ebony. For a while after Chaco died, I swear I heard him pattering around the house some nights. Not much anymore though. Sometimes I think I hear his little bell. I noticed later that Liz had on Chaco’s old pink collar in the last photograph in this post. I hadn’t known she was going to wear it that day. We ran across one of his tags from the vet just yesterday. It was in a desk drawer. I feel lucky to have had two other cats around after Chaco died. It’s been good to watch them get a little closer to each other.
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QM & Liz…I didn’t get to my computer yesterday, so I’m a little late, but you know my love is with you both, as well as the two sweet kitties there!
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What a loving post, QM. Your shots of Chaco are wonderful, not only because they’re great shots but for the fact that they mark his life.
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oliverowl, thank you! You are a great grandparent to our furry ones! And send our love to Serena.
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ybonesy, thanks. We take more photos than ever of our two remaining cats now. Although I do get sad when I look at the photos of the last day of Chaco’s life. He looks peaceful but not healthy. I’m glad we have other photos of when he was feeling better. I think it’s important to mark big life events. It keeps me aware.
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Last night I was going through some old photographs and there was Chaco. This morning I mentioned the photos to Liz and we both shed a few tears. What we decided this morning is that we think Chaco was a cat with special needs. We think he came from an abusive background and was sometimes more nervous than Kiev or Mr. Stripeypants; he was always on high alert.
But Liz has enough love for a 100 cats and Chaco responded to her gift. He relaxed around her, stretched out, and became the most beautiful, long and lean black cat ever. We miss you, Chaco. But know you are in a better place up there, smiling down, visiting with Kiev, playing in your water dish.
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[…] 2011. Animals die, and it is certain that we will probably outlive many of our beloved pets (our cat Chaco died a few years ago, June 25th, […]
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Dear Chaco,
We are thinking about you, talking about you, remembering you, loving you today, the 2-year anniversary of your death, June 25th, 2009. We loved you so much. You are missed, Chaco Bell! Much love.
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