Cats

Cats are very interesting animals. They can cuddle, some are smart, and they are very quick. Cats can catch birds, butterflies, and bees. But are cats smarter than what we thought? A kitten can possibly be trained. My cat, Savannah, can sit, stay, lay down, and do all the same tricks dogs can. My cat will sic, but with her claws. So maybe cats are incredibly smart. But how do we start training them? From the beginning. Give them treats when they have completed their tricks. Train them when they are small.

Cats are all over the world. Lions, tigers, house pets, and still more. Cats have been alive for a very long time. So that's proof that they are smart, because they've survived for this long. Don't cats just fascinate you? They do me. To learn more about cats go to www.google.com and type in cats. Happy searching!

- Katie, 12, Virginia

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Mice in Heaven

On November 30, 2003, my old cat Claudia died. In some ways her death was not terribly surprising; after all, she was eighteen years old, which is eighty-five in human years. As my father said, there was “no oil left in her lamp.” But it was still a very sad day for me and all my friends who knew and loved Claudia.

Claudia had not been sick or in pain before her death, though like all elderly cats, she slept a lot and was somewhat slow on her feet. The night before Claudia died, a friend came over and we were playing with the cats. Claudia kept trying to get under the table. While she was there, Jessica, one of my younger cats, teased her by pawing at her. My friend, Cecilia, who comes from a country (the Philippines) that venerates the aged, scolded Jessica.

“Jessica,” she said, “you have to respect Claudia. She is old.”

At last Cecilia and I pulled Claudia out from under the table and put her on the bed. Before she left, Cecilia pet Claudia’s head, and Claudia started purring loudly and happily. Then she fell asleep together with me and the other cats.

The next morning, Claudia was not in the bed with me. I got up to look for her and finally saw her hair in the cubbyhole of my “cat tree.” I figured she must have gone there at night for some privacy. It would be a devil of a time trying to drag her out of there, I figured. But when I touched her fur, there was no response. Her body felt stiff. Right then it dawned on me that Claudia must have died during the night.

I quickly called Frank, a friend of mine who lived nearby.

“Could you please come to my place?” I asked. “I think Claudia’s dead.”

Five minutes later Frank was there. We hugged and cried for a few minutes, and then I went over to the cat tree and pulled Claudia out. My suspicions were correct: she was dead.

We tried to figure out what to do with Claudia’s body. Throwing her in the garbage would be callous; Claudia deserved better. Burying her, however, didn’t appeal to me either. If we moved, we would leave her behind, so to speak. Cremation seemed like the best option. So we drove to the Humane Society and arranged to have her cremated. The next day, I collected her ashes and put them in a small urn that now sits on my desk.

For the first week after Claudia’s passing, I was very depressed. The fact that she hadn’t suffered before her death and that I hadn’t been faced with the dilemma of putting her to sleep didn’t make me feel any better, no matter what friends tried to tell me. She was still gone.

Little by little, though, I recovered. Claudia had lived a full life, and it ended as peacefully as possible, with her dying in her sleep. I will always remember that Claudia was happy on the night before she passed away. I am also very proud of her in that although she was eighty-five in human years, she showed absolutely no trace of senility or mental decline. I hope that if I ever reach that age, I’ll be as sharp as she was – and that when my time comes to die, I’ll go as quietly and painlessly as she did.

After the first week my friends’ words finally began bringing comfort to me. A friend from Africa expressed the hope that the soul of Claudia would “rest in perfect peace.” A little boy I tutor told me he was going to name his stuffed toy cat Claudia – a nice way to remember a nice cat.

My father thought it was a bit strange that I had my cat cremated. I responded that many people did the same thing – in fact, at one store I shop at, a girl who had lost her cat kept his ashes in a vial she wore around her neck. But I believe that later he understood my need to remember Claudia in a tangible way.

“Well, cats go to heaven too,” Dad joked. (I’m sure he was thinking of the movie All Dogs Go to Heaven when he said this.)

“I’m sure heaven for cats is a place full of mice they can chase forever,” I replied.

Next week will be the sixth-month anniversary of Claudia’s death. I still miss her, but now I can think of the happy and funny things about Claudia’s life without getting upset. Maybe I’ll hold a luncheon for my close friends in her memory.

I love you, Claudia.

- Emily, 17, Canada