Spikey Spike
Spikey Spike
Alice wasn’t always keen on cats in the house, and especially not on the table! One of our favorite stories about Alice, Dane’s mom, is the time we all sat down to dinner and Spike jumped up on the table to join us. As quick as a Las Vegas dealer, Alice snatched Spike up, crying out, “No!” and dropped him onto the floor.
Then, realizing the toss was rather harsh, she looked up sheepishly and assured us in a soft voice, “They always land on their feet.” Dane and I ho wled, and still do, recounting this story, because we knew Alice’s cat rules. Knowing I was an animal lover, she may have thought she’d offended me by tossing Spike so quickly. She hadn’t.
Seventeen years ago, I asked Dr. Miller how I could get my cat Frida pregnant. As her eyes got big and her forehead wrinkled, I explained that when I was a child, Kelly, our family’s Dalmatian, had puppies, and it was the best lesson ever on the birds and the bees and responsibility. I wanted the same experience for Ethan and Helena, my grandchildren.
By the time Dr. Miller was done lecturing me on cats and pregnancy, I could tell she didn’t think I’d learned a darn thing about the birds and the bees. So I did what she recommended—nothing—and sure enough Frida’s belly swelled.
I’m convinced there’s a dictionary somewhere in which, if you look up the words “cat lover,” Dane’s photo will be there. There’s nothing he likes better than a cat, and any sweet kitten will have him playing on the floor in no time.
And so it was with Frida’s kittens. No sooner would Dane come over to visit than he’d be down on the floor with all the kittens running all over him like a human jungle gym. It was no surprise that when they were old enough, he claimed Sophie as his own and took her home.
More surprising was when he brought Alice over to pick one out. She chose an orange-and-white, short-haired sweetie and, before Dane even pulled out of the driveway, christened him Spike!
Soon enough, Spike and Sophie became Alice’s new best friends, and every afternoon when she’d take a break from her daily chores and read, both kittens would sleep on her lap. Sophie didn’t outlive Alice, but Spike (or more often Spikey, or even Spikey Spike) did.
Despite missing Alice terribly, Spike had a great life. He moused in the morning, visited his gardening friends in the backyard in the afternoon, and kept Dane company during the evening. His new feline friend Blake (Blakey, or Blakey Blake) was never too far from his side.
Days turned into years. When Dane lived with me for six months while he recuperated from heart challenges, he missed both Spikey and Blakey dreadfully. He couldn’t wait to get back home to them, as there was no way we could bring two adult cats to my home—we knew it would be chaos with my gang of cats and dogs.
Eventually Spike started showing his age and could no longer eat solid food. But he sure could purr and love up Dane. He still hung out with Blakey but he was losing weight. After a few visits with Dr. Piper, it became apparent that Spikey would soon be joining Alice.
When we walked into Dr. Piper’s office that final day, Mrs. Piper said, “Wow, sixteen years. That’s a long life.” Dane cuddled Spikey on his blanket and put his face next to him. As he gently stroked his neck, he whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re a good kitty,” as Spikey closed his eyes for the last time.
Blake was able to spend time with Spikey—to sniff him, lie next to him, and know that he was gone. The next evening Dane and I drove out to the back pasture. Carrying Spikey from the car, Dane opened a gate and walked past an old pine tree until he reached a rock that he uses as a marker. I followed with a shovel.
As the sun descended and the sky glowed a soft peach, Dane reminisced about his one and only dog, Sparky, who is also buried there, along with Sophie and several other beloved feline companions.
Rest in peace, Spikey. Dane laid you down gently and said his goodbyes, but he’ll always carry you in his heart. And Alice will be so happy to see you.