Marley: The Lion in Winter
04.20.2013
Marley, our feline, family and friend: you're not feeling well. You’re eating a special food and taking daily medicine for a kidney ailment, but you’re still losing weight. It’s time to take you to Dr. M. for a check-up.
You yowl in the elevator, then you’re calm, quiet, curious, as I pull you along Boulevard St. Germain in your cat caddy.
You growl at the alarming smells in the vet’s waiting room.
A door opens, a short yappy canine skids across the floor towards you. You hiss like a snake.
Dr. M. in slow-mo, as if walking in a dream,
John Lennon sculpted face and specs,
hands at home in fur, questions you.
I translate: your behavior is odd, changed.
You don’t jump up on the counter now,
sleep instead on your bed on the kitchen floor,
no longer come bounding out for our company,
you wander in beside one or the other of us for a while,
then return to the kitchen alone, as if disoriented.
You forget your cat box at least twice a week.
Dr. M. sinks his slow hands in your white belly fur,
feels around—how patient you are!—
then peers into your eyes with his light. This you barely endure.
We hold your head and paws while he presses a syringe into your front leg.
You yell at him: you’ve had it!
One final indignity: claws clipped.
You are not amused; no, you are royally pissed.
Your eyes are fine, the doctor says, but it could be
a tumor of the brain or lungs.
The next day we have an appointment at a clinic
on the periphery of Paris, due north, a long Métro ride.
Richard places a turquoise towel around his neck,
and drapes you around his shoulders.
Won’t he jump down? I wonder. But no, you don’t.
Just in case, I wheel your caddy beside the two of you.
Photograph (c) 2013 Kaaren Kitchell
Your first Métro ride. Richard stands, with his Turkish Angora boa. You look around in amazement. You rotate your gaze in every direction, marble-eyed, down at the tracks, the tunnels, the cars, up at the ceiling, the ads, the humans, who eye you in amusement.
Since we arrived in Paris, you haven’t been out at all except for up Blvd. St. Germain to the vet’s.
(I remember Grammy K., living in that high-rise care center in San Francisco, loving it when we sprung her and wandered the city streets.)
You stay close to Richard’s ears, lick them a little, your hind legs trailing down his back. I drape them around his shoulders again, but they prefer to trail.
A block from the clinic, you suddenly pant like a lunatic (a sixth sense as to where we’re going, or thirst?).
Photograph (c) 2013 Kaaren Kitchell
In the waiting room, Richard lays you down on a chair. You go limp, head and paws hanging over one side, tail drooping over the other.
I sign you in and bring you water.
Two young French girls ask your name.
Marley, Richard says.
Is your pet in there? I ask. They nod. What is his name?
Snoop.
Snoop Dog and Bob Marley, kindred spirits!
The vet comes out holding a tiny dog who looks like a fox with a tube coming out of his forehead. One of the girls reaches for him, cradles him on her lap. He sits there staring, forlorn.
Il est trés malade, says the other girl.
The girl who holds Snoop curls over him, sobbing.
We comfort her.
What kind of Frankenstein experiments are they doing in there? you wonder, still lying across the chair limp.
The doctor calls us in. He is young, handsome, warm.
You lie on the table, limp. The vet interviews us, examines you and carries you out of the room for the X-rays.
I go around the corner to find the bathroom. Returning, see the saddest dog I’ve ever seen, splayed on the floor, eyes wounded, his dewlaps spread like spilled water.
He has neck cancer, the vet’s assistant says.
Will they put him to sleep?
She doesn’t know.
The vet carries you back into the room. It’s over!
You spring into action, explore every corner of the room, finally settle on a high counter near our heads.
The vet puts up the X-rays. Your heart: fine. So are your lungs and brain. But here, see the dark line along the colon? The lining appears to be inflamed. He’ll call our vet to discuss what to do. You need more blood work and an ultrasound.
We ask about the saddest dog. Oh, he’s on a course of chemo for three weeks, says the vet. He will look like that for another few days, and then he’ll be fine. Amazing!
All the way home, you’re alert and relaxed. Just a brief spell of white coat syndrome, just like Richard has.
Next day at Dr. M’s, a very young girl in a white lab coat with long dark hair tells us the doctor will be out shortly. She moves slowly, as if dreaming, comes over to you and coos.
Anouk is her name. She’s the veterinarian’s daughter, 11 years old, she wants to be a vet like her dad.
More blood work means another needle. He’ll call us with the results later that day.
Drawing (c) 2013 Anouk McCarthy
The news is good. The renal condition is improving. He will give you medicine for the colon condition, and it’s not too difficult to treat. And you'll get your ultrasound the 24th.
Richard stops by the vet’s for the medicine. Anouk gives us her two drawings of you, looking like a little fox.
Marley with the plumed tail,
Marley the Prince (pronounced the way the French do, prance),
Marley with the Van Gogh eyebrows,
Marley with the turquoise eyes (now navy blue),
Marley, Mr. Floofypants, friend Dawna calls you,
Marley, little king of the block who adopted us
the day we planned our wedding,
Marley who wanted a home
with no other cats (or dogs or kids),
Marley with the white Elizabethan ruff,
Turkish Angora with buff-colored ears,
spirit neither shy nor neurotic,
fierce, sure of yourself,
certain of our affection,
rubbing white fur on us,
singing your feline song,
shedding your love
all over the house.
Drawing (c) 2013 Anouk McCarthy
Marley, Métro, family, health, veterinarian in Marley the Cat
Reader Comments (31)
I just came across this poem in the Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara... how tawny and apt!
CANTATA
How could I be so foolish as to not believe
that my great orange cat Boris (Armed with Madness)
Butts loves me when he rises to the door like a dog
each night when I come home from work and
probably isn't even particularly hungry
...............................................or lays
his conspicuous hairs on my darkest clothes
out of pure longing for my smell which they do have
because he looks like my best friend my constant lover
hopelessly loyal tawny and apt and whom I hopelessly love
Frank O'Hara
AAAAGGGH! Mein Gott, couldn't you put a disclaimer at the top, "MARLEY IS FINE"??? I was rushing thru, albeit admiring certain lines and photos, to get to the end because this is not just any old chat, this is MARLEY!!
NOW that I'm relieved of worry, I can go back and mark (no pun) lines like "hands at home in fur" and "his dewlaps spread like spilled water," and Richard's stoic/anguished face as he wears Marley like a cowl neck sweater.
Don't ever do that to me again.
I'm so glad Marley is all right. You've both got me teary-eyed, having endured one-too-many dying family pet student narratives to tackle another. But I always keep up with yr news...and I'm relieved it turned out good.
Dear Daniel,
Leave it to you to find one more perfect poem. I like the way O'Hara leaves "my best friend, my constant lover" ambiguous: cat or boyfriend? And "Armed with Madness!" We love it.
Thank you, and buckets of love,
Kaaren (and Richard)
Ah, Anna,
You know the importance of suspense in a good story. You read to the end, right? Marley remembers hearing your stories full of wild events in long ago Italy or more recent San Francisco. He misses hearing you read them, but is glad that you still love him.
Thank you from the three of us for your appreciation.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear Kate,
Marley thanks you, and so do we. He would have loved reading those student stories, as long as they weren't about dogs.
Hugs to you,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Marley Rocks, Kaaren! So does Richard. Brave. What a pair of sweet bodhisattvas they are too right? Making people smile on the metro! I lost my cat of 18 years last year & now have a mad fem half monster, certainly queen of queens & a kook too. Her name is Saint Button, Queen of Sheba AKA Ms. Twirly Tail. She was my brother's cat wherein she had but one name... Button. Now who ( Marley will understand this) can live with a silly name like Button? Onward. In Love/Light- h
What a wonderful message, Holaday. I've seen that magnificent Saint Button, Queen of Sheba AKA Ms. Twirly Tail on your Facebook page, and believe she is your brother's enduring spirit. And yes, I think we've both got some Bodhisattvas living in our homes.
Much love to you,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Here's one of mine from 1997, The Blind Beekeeper collection:
____________________
INTERVIEW WITH A CAT
"OK, what's it like being a cat?"
"Well... we own the house.
We keep to a pretty tight schedule: 8AM:
the couch; 12PM: the upstairs chair;
6PM: the floor under the round table.
We barely tolerate your music. We tolerate
your daughter's music. We really dig
your son's rap records. What does 'yo' mean?
The garbage truck on monday mornings
has got to go. Why don't they just
pelt the house with rocks?!
We worship the same God.
We're grateful for birds and scratching
noises.
We love petting.
When we're in power we'll eradicate children.
When everyone leaves the house, you know
we disappear too. We have our ways...
Now please excuse me -- I have to go
lie down over there."
_______________________________
2/17
I love love love this post! So happy there is a cure. Better yet, I LOVE the way Marley and Richard rode the metro (with Kaaren right there to help) outside of a cat carrier....amazing family, beautiful writing and kudos to Kaaren for capturing the metro ride!!! Hugs, S
Oh, dear Marley! Like Anna I was nearly in tears with worry... that dear boy. And so brave to go out into Paris! (Look at his pupils when he's draped over Richard's shoulder! Huge! i.e. cat super-alert mode.) It sounds like you've found most excellent vet care, and for that I am grateful. And also, of course, grateful that his ailment is treatable. Yay! And what charming drawings from Anouk... so sweet. I hope soon he's back to his mischievous self, jumping onto counters to his heart's content.
Please keep us posted on how dear sweet Mr. Floofy Pants is doing! And give him a big kiss and hug from me...
Love!
dawna
Love to our Marley💜
Ah, I'm with Dawna and Anna, was terribly worried but so happy to hear this good news. I hope his poor colon calms down before too long and he's feeling fit once again.
Love the post and the photos and the poems others sent in response.
Meow, Marley. Love to you three.
I was so worried, too...and I'm so glad dear Marley is doing better. I hope he heals quickly and is back to leaping onto table tops and up to high perches soon. What an adventure you had together! Sending him healing and love...
p.s. I love that you included, "Mr. Floofypants," in this; I remember Dawna's little nickname for him. (; xo
Daniel,
You nailed cats in this poem. From "we own the house" to "Now please excuse me...". ALL of it!
Thank you and love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Chère Suki,
Merci! Nous t'adorons, tu sais.
Bisous,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dawna!
Marley is so happy that his friends in L.A. remember him. You're right about the meaning of marble-eyed pupils: super-alert! Our vet is as charming as his daughter, Anouk. Marley is completely relaxed with him (until the needle or nail-clippers come out). Aren't Anouk's foxy drawings great? And yes, you're right he's leaping onto the counter again. We think that means he's feeling better.
Marley sends you thanks for the honorific, Monsieur Floofy Pants! And we all return the kisses and hugs to you,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Rita,
Marley sends purrs to you and Jim. You took such good care of him.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Meow meow, Joan,
Marley thanks you (and so do we) for your counsel before the visit to the vet. He seems to be doing better. We think he liked the quadruple dose of two vets, a Paris adventure, new medicine and love from his friends (drawings! photos! an essay! love notes!).
Thank you so much. He sends you a big purrrrrrrrr.
Much love,
Kaaren & Richard & Marley
Dear Jennifer,
Marley is grateful to you. He's leaping again. And leave it to a writer to remind me of how Mr. Floofypants should be spelled. I'm going back into the essay to correct it!
Much love from all of us,
Marley, Kaaren & Richard