Marshmellow

Pets hold a special place in a family, one which people who are not pet-people cannot grasp. A cat or a dog is a member of the family. They are there and love you unconditionally. They have their own personalities and approach their humans in their own ways.  As a kid, we had Mittens, a large cat who somehow made his way into our house despite the fact that Mom claimed to be allergic to cats. My sister brought him home as a stray kitten, and Mom agreed to let him live under the backporch, where we could feed him. Then, as the year progressed, we would return home from school to find Mittens had made his way into the unfinished basement. Then, the door to the upstairs would mysteriously be left open. Soon, Mittens had free access to the house, and he would perch on the back of the couch or curl up around your head on the pillow. He was gentle, friendly, and one of us. He passed away while I was at college, and Mom waited to tell me until I came home that spring. She did not feel it was right to tell me over the phone.  It is hard to lose a member of your family. If you are blessed enough to be a pet person, you get that.

My family had to let go of a family member named Marshmellow this week. Before you think it, understand that that name is not misspelled. It is entirely accurate and correct. When we moved from Liberal, Emily had just finished 3rd grade, and she had wanted a kitty for some time. She was not entirely happy that we were moving, and we told her that since our house in Hutchinson was bigger and had a basement, she could have her kitty. We found Marshmellow on a farm northeast of town. He was part of a litter that had a mixture of different colorings, and he looked the most like his mother. Heidi and Emily chose him for a number of reasons, but, as women sometimes do, they chose him mostly because he was pretty. If the picture in your head, based solely on the name Marshmellow, is a puffy, white kitten, you are slightly off. Actually, you are way off. Marshmellow was a shorthair kitten, with a coat of caramel swirls and sort of off-white, one that can only be described as the color of a perfectly-toasted marshmallow. His coloring, like him as a whole, was unique. 

The spelling of his name was initially unintentional, but it was appropriate. Marshmellow was one of the most mellow cats ever to claim a house as his own. He was never in a hurry, and he was amazingly tolerant of just about anything. He let Emily haul him around without complaint. He did not protest when Heidi brought home a dehydrated and starved little black and gray kitty who would eventually jump all over him, bother him as he tried to chill in the window seat, and follow him down the stairs so he could jump in front of him when Heidi filled their food bowls. Occasionally, we would see the little bugger, named Chocolate, sent rolling across the floor by a massive Marshmellow paw. Marshmellow had huge paws, because Marshmellow was a big dude. You could only truly appreciate just how big he was when he would stretch out on the livingroom floor, front paws out before him and his back legs completely extended back behind him, or when he tried to curl up in bathroom sink, overflowing the vessel that held him so well as a kitten. 

It did not take long for Marshmellow to earn his spot as our cat. He would curl up in the bathroom sink and just look up at you if you needed to brush your teeth. He perched himself on my nightstand and waited if I stayed in bed past 7:00 a.m. He would visit me in the morning in the bathroom, just to say, 'Hello" and start the day off right.  This cat, despite the fact that he had free reign over the house and did not need to ask permission to go anywhere, would walk up to the couch, look at me and cock his head to the side, before "Mreowing" his request to share the couch. I usually had to clear any throw pillows off the middle section so he could lay there, but he always made sure it was ok first. 

All of this is everyday and unamazing for those of you who do not know Marshmellow. They were just a glimpse of who this fluffy friend was. This winter, Emily got sick. She stayed in bed for a couple of days. Marshmellow stayed right with her, curled up on the right side of her bed, keeping an eye on his girl. They had grown up together, and he was going to make sure she was ok. In the fall, when my sleep schedule gives way to grading papers and watching film, Marshmellow would come downstairs after Emily had fallen asleep, and he would sprawl out on the giant ottoman next to my couch, usually just about when I was ready to toss a stack of papers across the room or put my face through computer screen. He would "Mreow", wait for me to pat the ottoman, jump up, and reach a paw out to so I would scratch him behind the ears. He seemed to know when a little perspective was needed, and he was there to provide an instant stress relief, "chill by osmosis", if you will.  I honestly believe he really felt as if this was his house, and he was responsible for us. If you came out of the bedroom early in the morning, you would usually see him, with Chocolate sitting just behind him, sitting on the hopechest in the hallway, or up at the corner of the wall of the kitchen across from the hopechest; either spot allowed him to see both kids' rooms and our bedroom, and he was on watch. We were his people, and he was keeping an eye on us.

After the vet diagnosed Marshmellow and gave us the news, he was able to come for a few days, and immediatley went into Emily's room. He spent two days there, on her bed. Thursday, he came out and sat in the window seat with Chocolate. He looked tired and sad, and he had stopped eating, but when I walked in the livingroom, he slid down from the window, moved across the room, sat on his honches in front of the couch, and asked for permission to jump up next to me. He had lost quite bit of weight at this point, and he was pretty weak, but as soon as I patted the cushion, he leaped up and laid down on his spot in the middle. He sat there with me for over an hour, and then went back into Emily's room to watch over her for the night. 

We were all able to say goodbye to Marshmellow. He said goodbye too. He nuzzled up to Emily right at the end, burying his head in her under her neck, as he had done so many times. The loss probably has touched Emily most, partly because she is so tender-hearted, and partly because the two really have grown up together. The passing has bothered me (I have been a little embarrassed by how much, until I found that others have felt just as I do when they have lost a pet), but as a dad, watching my little girl feel the loss is something completely different. 

There is a kids' movie called All Dogs Go to Heaven. I have never seen it, but I am sure it is a good flick. I don't know if all pets do go to Heaven, but I guarantee to good ones go somewhere where they continue to watch over their people. If reincarnation actually exists, I would have to guess Mittens might have found his way into Marshmellow. Or maybe they are hanging out together somewhere now, mellow as can be, watching the hyper little cats that bounce around, in a hurry to get, well, nowhere, but who had perfectly fit their respective families, too, the two of them purring contently because they have it all figured out. The big cats, they don't have rush around like that. It's not who they are.