Gypsy Kane, 1995 - 2008

Gypsy Kane was born on St. Patrick's Day, 1995. We met her a month later, just about 13 years ago today. We don't know for certain that her true date of birth was March 17th, but we decided it was because Irish Americans get a little overzealous with pride, however tangential their connection may be to the auld sod.
Adoption people: "She was probably born about a month ag--"
Us:"--St. Patrick's Day!"

I went with my mom to a PetCo on Route 22 to pick out a kitten. Our last longtime cat Snowy had gotten hit by a car the previous November and had been left to die in the street. We were a one-pet family, and it was quite a shock, but we were ready for a new pet by the spring.

We picked Gypsy because she was saucing about in the cage like a little sassafrass.

This spirited kitten would later grow to become what many of my friends would misunderstand think of as one of the bitchier old feline curmudgeons they knew, but as a kitten, the attitude worked well on her.

After the jump, a tribute. You can't sum up the life of a friend you've known for 13 years in a few paragraphs, but when it's a cat, you kind of can.

We named her Gypsy for three reasons: her patchwork coat like gypsies wear (at least in my mind, where they also wear big hoop earrings. OK, I only know what a Halloween costume of a gypsy looks like), she was found wandering in someone's backyard before the adoption people got her, and also I was obsessed with Mystery Science Theater 3000 at the time and Gypsy was the only female character.

As a wee kitten, she was always on the go, exploring.

And we quickly noticed she was a bit of a weirdo.

She would jump sideways in an odd manner when playing or scared. We called that move "the crab." She was also easily startled by a wooden reindeer statuette we had and when she saw it, her tail would get all puffed up like a raccoon tail. So because this was funny, the reindeer made a lot of guest appearances.

She soon met her first major foe in a skinny orange boy cat from next door who attacked her. His name became Nemesis. After his ambush, she was never as comfortable outside.

That fall, Gyp came to live in my first apartment, 123 Somerset Street in New Brunswick. There she endured all manner of college-kid-inflicted indignities, such as sharing her living space with other cats she didn't like, having numerous wasted young adults frequently around to hassle her, and being saddled with the Halloween costume known as Gypsy Bot 5000.

Further weird characteristics that arose during this time were that she played fetch (not very well) and she had her first "baby," which was a fuzzy pom-pom she would carry around. She meowed mournfully when the baby somehow got ripped in half. Once when no one was around to feed her, Gypsy fed herself a loaf of bread. And another time she fed herself a carton of treats, chewing through the sturdy carton.

Gyp lived on and off between my parents and I over the next few years. She was with me from the time I moved to Somerville, NJ, in 99, I think, until now. In Somerville a roommate had a new young enemy cat who would torment Gyp--another punk ginger boy. Even when I had her shut in my room, he'd stick his skinny arm all the way under the door and wave it around. She'd bat it and hiss. This period I think officially kicked off her long and storied career as an old curmudgeon. She also grew rather large and in charge, and for a time "Gypsy units" were a measure of huge cat among my friends.

In Brooklyn she immediately became attached to a fuzzy disc cat toy that became her new baby. She'd go around the apartment howling with it in her mouth. The sophomoric highjinks and indignities inflicted on Gyp didn't end just because college had. A pair of ceramic owls became her new inanimate enemies when ecs and I would prank her into startled raccoon tail mode with them.

And then after 6 years of being the only cat in the apartment, in moved a big yellow Labrador. Gypsy was not amused.

She took to hanging out almost exclusively on the loft bed or behind the futon, which meant she didn't always make it to the litter pod, one time with comical results.

The fiance referred to Gyp as "your cat." She warmed up to him, but never did really forgive him for bringing That Dog into the house, and when the f pet her, it would regularly end with a swipe from her and a cuss-out from him.

When we moved to Baton Rouge, Gyp really seemed to take to our new living situation. It might even have been the best period of her life, even though her health was failing the past few months and I didn't know it but kind of did, only not the extent. She watched all the neighborhood cats and birds out the windows all night and the limited part of the day she was awake. The f even heard her running around at night like a kitten not too long ago. And she loved sitting in the open window in the sun, even though she totally fell out the window recently (funny at the time, but trying not to think about that knowing what I know now).

Thursday morning, the f woke me up to say Gypsy wasn't in good shape, she was having a very hard time breathing. She was like a feather when I lifted her into her carrier, and for the first time in her life she didn't resist being put in there. The vet said it was probably cancer and was so far gone that at her age she probably wouldn't spring back even if they could do something for her. She was dead within hours. I'd rather not write about the end. I'm already trying to send the mental street sweeper through, to forget that part.

But also in that sad day and in the days since, I talked to and laughed with some of my best friends. My dad was very understanding, reminiscing about our early days with her.

Him: You should write about it. You wrote a nice piece about it when Snowy died and it made you feel better, remember?
Me: I don't remember that.
Him: I do.

He pointed out that Gypsy lived up to her name, moving all over with me, and she lived in three states. Pretty good for a cat who was homeless a baby.

So here's to Gyp: There was none more angsty. She could convey more disgust and disapproval in one staredown than any cat I've seen.

But she was also an affectionate creature (although the affection was reserved mostly for her mom). She would purr like a motorboat for hours and we'd have to put the skull and crossbones pillow over her (ever so gently of course) to muffle the sound if she was right near one of our ears on top of the couch. (Foreshadowing? Ah, gallows humor.) She would not abide me crying, and used to hit me in the mouth with her paw if I went on enough. She really would have socked me good for the way I cried when she died.

The earthly remains of Gyp spent the rest of Thursday and Friday on ice, wrapped in a blanket within a plastic bag in our freezer. This factoid was news to me every time I opened the freezer to get ice cubes for the first 15 or so times. On the gallows humor tip, it also struck me as kind of funny. "Oop! Gyp. As you were." [shuts door]

I'm having a lot of bad-mom guilt (admittedly I would still have guilt if I volunteered at an orphanage and donated all worldly possessions to charity) and at night it's difficult to sleep and to not to think of the thing I'm trying not to think about. I've accepted the sudden death of an old cat, but just wish I could obliterate her last moments from my memory.

I'll end this long post before I start quoting Flaming Lips lyrics about death and facing things you're not prepared to face. This has been one of those reminders to make sure everyone you love knows how you feel. In the case of cats, make sure you give them treats and catnip (the good stuff) more than you dress them in outfits that they hate. I hope I did.

And now, as the song goes, she's buried right in my backyard. It's nice to have that option. I now have family buried in Louisiana. And that's a bond to here whether I wanted it or not.

Comments

[rmockmt]

So sorry about your loss. I had a cat from first grade up until I was well out of college. It was so hard when I had to have her put down.

Pets can be a hassle, and it's hard to lose them, but we gain so much from having them in our lives. I think they make us better people.

[Lioux]

R.I.P Gypsy.

R.I.P.

[roopa]

I’m not really a fan of cats, but you made me like Gypsy Kane. I’ve never lost a pet (I’ve never HAD a pet), so I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but it must suck. Well, at least she’s not suffering anymore.

And I love the vintage Cokane photo. Hot.

[Maine Man]

I'm sure she's rolling in a sunspot in the cat afterlife.

[andrea]

sorry to hear about gypsy... that's always
a horrible loss! i love my dog so much, i'm not sure what i'd do if anything ever
happens to him.

[Jules]

Aw what a sweet post. And what a BEAUTIFUL cat. I'm so sorry for your loss I know how hard it is.

[Jordaan]

Very, very sorry. That was an excellent and fitting tribute. You done her good. Get better soon; our hearts go out to you.

[Hillary]

I'm really sorry. this is a beautiful tribute. thank you for sharing a bit of Gypsy with us :)

[beth]

aw-man. not much to say about that. very sad. cats. so sorry for your sadness and the loss of a loved one.

[amanda]

Dear Gypsy:

I am terribly sorry for all of the names I called you and times I screamed at you, for your mother's and my amusement. I assure you, I was probably super baked each time and I only said all those horrible things because I knew you didn't speak english.

Rest in peace, kitty. Though you still probably never learned english.

[Big Daddy]

That sucks.

Sorry to hear that Colleen.

We had to put my dog down due to stomach cancer and we made the [dumb] choice of being in the room with her when they gave the injection.

That scarred me to never have to go through that again with a pet.

[kartek]

Poor Gyp. She has some good company Snowy...and the 8 cats I've lost since I was a tot. She had fantastic eye liner and no other cat I knew wore those scarves like she did. You should put a birdfeeder up by her so that she'll always have something to look at.

[Moi]

I am really, really sorry. If its any consolation, your post really made me feel better about my situation too. My cat is 19 and limping, and I know her days is coming very soon and I totally get a wet eye each time I think of it. Thank you for the reminder to make my sophie happy everyday.

RIP Gypsy

[Ten]

So sorry to read about your loss, but I'm grateful you shared with us. Sounds like she was a special soul.

May your memories provide comfort and laughter.

[CajunKate]

Oh. That really, really stinks. I lurve my little kitty so much (no matter that she destroys every item in my house). I can't imagine not having her with me. I'm gonna go hug her now.

RIP, Gypsy.

[ecs]

*sniff* I'm sorry if I scared you when I was prank-owling Gyp. I know deep down you were just pretending to be scared so we could laugh. Thanks for letting me pet you and for sitting on me when I slept over on the couch. Thank you for being cuddly and purry and for trying to steal my food. Thanks for watching The Room with us and (I imagine) enduring thousands of zombie movies throughout your life.

I'll miss you.

Beautiful post, cokane. xo

[Jackie Clarke]

Oh my! What a wonderful tribute to your kitty-cat. I am not an animal person so much but my sister is - and the only time I have heard her SOB is when our dog died. She called me in such a hysterical panic...and even people who aren't animal people can understand death is so sad.

I do love it is spring and flowers will grow where she is!

And your Dad is way awesome.

[Amanda]

This is dedicated to Gyp. And Colleen.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=0ONJfp95yoE

[Ellen]

I remember one time at 123 Somerset Street when your dad came by for a visit. He picked up Gyp under her front legs, like you might do with a kid. I remember thinking, "Lookout Mr. Kane, she'll claw your face off!" But she didn't and she was super happy to see him. She would have clawed my face off if I had tried something like that. Good old Gyp.

[Therese Mahler]

I am now crying in the coffee shop. This is a wonderful tribute to a singular cat.

Gypsy was one of the good ones. RIP.

[JDizzle]

Totally crying now! AT WORK!

So sorry about Gypsy. Pets are freakin hard to lose man. I have a 15 year old cat that I joke about everyday. I say terrible things about her and Beeps gets very upset. But I don't mean it. I know her time is running out. It's tough.

[Caitlin]

Oh Colleen, that is so sad! You gave her a beautiful kitty eulogy though.

I've always loved cats and while I've never had one of my own, I don't know what I would do if something happened to my bf's cat. I love her as if she were my own.

[queencarlotta]

Oh no! I remember sitting on your couch in Brooklyn crying after my own furball unexpectedly met a terrible end in that Bay Ridge vet's office...little did I know that the curmudgeonly Gypsy would meet a similar end such a short time later. She was a good, fat girl and you treated her well in her too-short life. (I'm positive the catnip to hateable outfit ratio totally tilted in your favor.)

[Derik Moore]

RIP Gyp Dworkin. This is the eulogy to Simone I told you about.

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=471281&blogID=281893733

[Jeff]

That post was so touching. I'm going to go grab my cats and force them to let me hug them.