Thanksgiving Kitty: Gizmo, the cat who hated everyone

Gizmo

Pat and I got Gizmo our first Thanksgiving together way back in 1992. Gizmo was never a happy cat, not even as a kitten. He lived his entire life as a grumpy-old-man-cat.

The only person he liked was me and he wanted to be with me constantly. Giz got less attention when I started having kids, Dylan first and then Emma. They took most of my time and poor old curmudgeony Giz got pushed aside. That's ok, I think he liked the abuse.

The kids wanted him to like them, especially Emma. She wanted the fluffy kitty to play with her and be her pal. Gizmo would look at her with a sneer, as if to say, nope. Never. Not gonna happen. To amuse ourselves we would make up songs about poor Gizmo. Our favorite was GIZMO (like BINGO) "There was a family had a kitten and Gizmo was his name-o, G-I-Z-M-O." Not terribly original but we liked it. What, we're easily amused.

Gizmo lasted a long-time. He outlasted Baby Kitten and Jake (our other cats). I knew his time was getting close. He was having trouble with the stairs and he was losing weight. One day he disappeared. It was the week before Thanksgiving, fitting really. I looked around for him but no luck. Life keeps its own schedule and we were getting ready for a trip to Baltimore for a family wedding (shout-out to Chris and Cora!) so I said very little about him to the kids and prepped for our trip.

My plan was to do laundry Wednesday, pack Thursday, and leave directly after school Friday for the 8 hour drive to Baltimore. I washed my first load and tossed it in the dryer. When I went to retrieve the laundry, it was still wet. I figured I forgot to press the start button - it had happened before.  Popped it on again and went to bed. Next morning, laundry is still wet. Great! Dryer's broken. I'll deal with it after work. I get home and run outside to check the vent for clogs. That's when I find Gizmo.

Dead. In his favorite spot, the window well. Hard up against the dryer vent, blocking it.

So now I have: a dead cat, dirty and wet laundry, and children I have to tell that their cat is dead. Joy to my world. I cover the cat, package up the laundry to take to the laudromat, and sit down to tell the kids Giz is dead. They react how I expect them to react. By then it's late, so Giz will have to wait until morning.

Friday dawns, cold and rainy - pouring to be precise - and me with a cat to bury. Out in the garden, I dig a hole and place Gizmo in as gently as possible. Now before I can close the hole, the children need a service - a freaking graveside service, in the pouring rain, for a cat who hated everyone. And who gets to officiate this service. That's right, me. As I stand in the garden, wet and cold and not a little irritated, I'm thinking to myself that my kids are never watching TV again. Ever. Stupid cartoons. With their stupid pet burials and elaborate services. Hate.

We eventually make it to Baltimore; Chris and Cora's wedding was beautiful.

If you think that was the end of our Thanksgiving travails that year, well, you'd be wrong. But that's a story for another blog.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Enjoy your families and count your blessings.