Smokey the Cat (not the bear)
by
Beverley McInnis
copyright 12-11-2001
Age Rating: 18 to 127
My family and friends are always laughing over my memories. I remember everything, even from very early childhood. I might not recall picture images but I'll recall smells, emotions and sounds. I also remember stories told to me when I was young and incorporated them into my memory bank of experiences.
While I recall many things from the time I could walk, my most vivid first memory is that of my cat Smokey.
I was 4 years old when we moved to a 5 acres farm in the country-side of Surrey, BC. Now it is all under pavement and homes but then, it was farms for as far as your eye could see.
Once we settled onto the farm, I was allowed a barn cat to control the mice. Smokey was that barn cat. A tough scrapper who roamed the bushes and neighbouring farms and always came home for fresh milk from the cow.
Smokey wasn't the type of cat that one could sit and cuddle. He was a Tom Cat, a Barn Cat, a scrapper. Still, he allowed me to pat his back while he drank fresh milk from our cow Bessie.
One day Smokey didn't return for the milk. I remember feeling really scared, wondering where my friend had gone. My dad told me not to worry, he'd come home once he was done wandering around. He did around one week later. He was scratched up, looked very ragged and was meowing all the way up to the barn. Dad gave him a bowl of fresh milk and some food scraps. After he satisfied his hunger, he curled up and slept. I believe he slept an entire day and night!
Smokey stayed closer to home after that incident. He also seemed to be more affectionate, allowing me to pat him without the milk bowl in front of him.
One day Smokey didn't come home. I was 5 years old. I don't really recall my parents telling me he had been hit by a car but I do recall informing them when the funeral was to be held.
After all, Smokey was a member of the family and as such, should have a proper funeral.
My dad gained permission from the neighbour to bury Smokey in the bush - where he loved to roam. Before he went to work, Dad made a special spot for Smokey to rest.
I invited all the neighbourhood children to the funeral. With my mother, we walked to the back bush and laid Smokey to rest. I had a cross made out of twigs that I put at the head of the grave. I said a few simple words and we all said the Lord's Prayer.
After, we walked back to my home where my mum had put out cookies and kool-aid for us - we had a wake. We stood around and talked about what a good cat Smokey was.
Shortly after, I returned back to kindergarten class. In front of the entire class, I told about Smokey and the funeral. I asked if anyone had another cat as Smokey wouldn't want me to be sad forever. He'd want me to have another cat to keep me happy.
Someone did. This is where my memory goes away as I cannot recall what the kitten's name was.
Memories are funny things. Allowing you to recall bits'n'pieces of your past without the full wide-screen details.
Still, I'll never forget the first funeral I ever attended nor will I forget Smokey. He taught me much more than he'll ever know.
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Robert, thank you for your comment. I laughed over your story on how you'd squirt milk into the cat's mouths and they'd follow! That was the funniest part of milking....was trying to hit the cats all in the mouth! Dripping milk, it was too cute, especially the kittens. I'll have to really think this over about the children's book and play around with it.
I am sitting here seeing this turn into a short story, Bev..... either from Smokey's point of view or the little girl's (that's you, fictionalized... lol)
~~Nan
I have almost always had a cat...and each was very special. I still have trouble writing about them though. Sachi was a darling, I wrote about her, she was a retriever tabby, funny and cute she could make any dog person like her. Nice tribute to Smokey!
Thank you Jackie. Mum said that I buried every animal on the farm - frogs, birds, baby rabbits, didn't matter. Smokey was a good cat, the best mouser ever!
Welcome !
