Mimosa

Adopted 3 June 1992 in Tulsa – died 26 May 2000 in Tulsa

Eugenie was one of Leslie Freeze-Johnson’s (Blog bio 28 MAR 16) rescues. She was two or three years old, black and white, like her predecessor, Esmeralda (Blog bio 10 JUN 12, 28 MAR 16) she was a victim of tedious, omnipresent, predictable human cruelty.

Leslie introduced her surreptitiously: she pulled into my driveway with a van-full of donations for a fundraising garage sale. Leslie’s countenance rivaled Mary’s at the foot of the cross. She explained that she had had to euthanize two cats that morning and silently we proceeded to unload. Behind a large box I saw a cat carrier; in the interior’s penumbra a pair of over-dialated eyes were staring at me. A fresh rescue, I thought, and then an epiphany: Nothing would cheer Leslie more than finding a good home for one of her cats. “Oh no, no!” she pleaded with feigned sincerity, “You have enough cats, don’t you?” Indeed, I had six plus three dogs.

Leslie’s spirits were lifting. Then the usual,  “Well... but only on a trial basis,” knowing full well that I wouldn’t return her.

We took the carrier inside, where upon opening the door the black-and-white calico shot out like a calf in a rodeo, diving into the basement where she hid under the wine rack. There I fed her and talked to her to win her trust. One day, just like that, she surfaced in the living room where she, much to my delight, jumped on the newly reupholstered couch and, WTH! urinated.

As her tentative approaches multiplied it was clear that her appetite for attention rivaled only with that for food. She gained too much weight and insisted on sleeping back to back with me. Other cats came and went on the bed at their own peril, and fights –not infrequent—always climaxed on my belly. (I began to wonder what was that lonely cat-in-a-carrier doing among garage-sale boxes?) Leslie’s answers were evasive.

Untypically, it took me several weeks to think of the right name for her because Eugenie was not my style. Then, in the middle of the night, as I was rubbing her belly and she was purring, and stretching, and rolling over, and touching my face with her paw, it came: Mimosa. It is not only a beautiful tree and a damned good breakfast drink, but in Spanish it means “clingingly affectionate,” and so she was.

(What's in a name?)

Mimosa got along well with felines Petunia, Mi-Reina, Pandora, Perla, Pomponia, Calpurnia, and Violeta (respective Blog bios: 20 MAY 17, 28 MAR 16, 24 SEP 11, 15 May 08 and 28 MAR 16, 13 MAY 12,  and 18 OCT 11; and canines Jefe, Kissu, Maximus, and Estrella.

Easygoing and laid back, she was either in a state of Zen-like contemplation, of belly-up luxuriation, or at the food bowl. On rare occasions, when she became active, breakage was inevitable. Among some irreplaceable antiques, most memorable is a yellow grainy-glass centerpiece of the 1800s, which I adored. Mimosa had a disarming way to look "sorry."

Kidney failure, the curse of cats, struck suddenly.  The usual futile attempt at hydration meant leaving her alone and afraid in a steel cage enduring two full days away from her comforts and companions just when she needed them most. A decision had to be made because I was leaving on vacation. ...That’s right.  I don’t forgive myself nor can I justify my actions.

Mimosa belly up and with Pandora on her couch.

Dr. McCoy said there was no chance of recovery and so, instead of taking her home, canceling the trip, and being with her until the end, I spent but a few moments alone with her. She purred hopefull that I was taking her back to the sofa by the window. Instead sweet “Mimosona la Gordona” was euthanized at 0800.

Stuffing her plump body in the freezer and telling pet sitter Emily Baker about it were my last actions before leaving for Barcelona that evening in a schizophrenic frame of mind between biting remorse and anticipation.

Mimosa’s story is a song ending in a discordant, sustained note. Like the dirges of Bruja, Achilles, Ponsón, Perla, Esmeralda, Edelsinn, others ...  it resonates of my shortcomings and it plays on and on.