George Harrison Brister
2001-2012
This may turn out to be the silliest blog post ever written but I don't care. It will be sappy but you may skip on to a happier post for another day. Today marks the end of the life of our cat George, the meanest, baddest, most loyal cat on the planet. As some sort of therapy, I feel the need to post some memories of his life...perhaps so that I can move on and maybe in some sort of odd way...pay tribute to the very first member of this version of Bristers.
I have never been a "cat person." I still do not consider myself a cat person. Suzanne grew up with cats and I'll never forget her first request for a Brister cat. We were just married, living in a small apartment in Jackson. Our neighbor, a pet lover herself, had spotted an orange tabby roaming the complex, chasing birds and other creatures. She suggested we adopt this cat. For many days, I resisted...but eventually gave in under one condition...that I was to name the cat. From my recollection, my end of a nightime conversation went something like this, "if we see the cat again, we can adopt it." Literally, the very next morning, we heard the sounds of a cat outside of our apartment. It was that cat, THE cat. I went outside and he was sitting under a tree looking at a bird. I called him and he IMMEDIATELY ran into our apartment. He never left the Brister household. The name that was chosen was George Harrison...as you can guess, he was named after the Beatle shortly after George Harrison's death. The Beatles are my favorite musical group ever.
The first year, inside that apartment was interesting. Essentially, we had adopted a stray and contained him inside an 800 square foot apartment. He was known to literally climb the door posts and stay there for seconds. He ate all of the blinds, scratched up the carpet, sprayed in the corners of each room. Yet somehow, we got back our initial deposit! He then moved with us to our first home in Jackson where he became an "indoor/outdoor" cat. Then on to Mandeville.
His first stop was with the Heberts. We purchased a home in desparate need of repair. So Suzanne, myself, and George moved in with Ron, Peggy, and Minew, the prissiest cat of all time. George tortured poor Minew but he solved another problem. He ran off all of the neighbors cats that had been torturing Minew in prior years. George had come to rule Beau Chene.
We finally moved into our current home, a few blocks away in the same neighborhood. George would have none of it. On multiple occassions, we were forced back to the Heberts. George had run away to the Heberts. I'll never forget one of those mornings that he ran away. Suzanne went to her parents to find him. He was not there. Not a second after she had called me in a panic with this news, I saw George galloping over the golf course back home. He had run to the Heberts and back to our house!
In more recent years, poor George had become neglected for obvious reasons. With a 3 year old and one year old, there is very little time for a cat. His routine was basic. He slept inside during the day and outside at night. By morning, he was at the door, ready to come in and eat breakfast. And he loved his "brothers." There was an initial fear of what George might try with the babies...but he tried none of it. He was their guide and protector and they loved him, too. If I took the boys on a golf course walk, I knew I could turn around and see George following closely, about ten feet behind. Just last week, he was eating cat treats out of their hands. They loved it. They were becoming attached and we were creating new memories with our "first born."
This morning, I could sense something was wrong. For one, George was not waiting at the door. It's very odd for him not to be waiting to come inside to eat breakfast. He was, after all, a 15 pound cat. Furthermore, after opening the door and calling him, I noticed vomit on the mat in front of the door. I initially assumed he was sick and had gone to rest in one of his spots. As I left for work close to 8AM, there was still no sign of George. On my walk to the car, I looked in one of those resting spots and he was lying there, very still. He was not gone...but he was close. I could tell. I stared at him for what must've been two minutes. He would look at me and hiss and then adjust his body, I assume for comfort. By this time, Suzanne had seen me. I informed her that I thought George was dying. She then went outside to view him. He was still alive. I called the vet for advice and by the time I got back outside he had left us. I didn't even have the heart to pick him up. I had to call my father-in-law. I couldn't look at him. We will never know what fully happened but his vet guessed he had an enlarged heart and some sort of stressful event put him over the edge. If there's any silver lining, it seems he went rather fast and of course away from public view (the kids).
George was one of two pets I've ever had. My beloved beagle Mo was the first, but he died when I was long gone from home. I had never fully experienced the death of a pet. And I never thought the experience would be difficult...because George was a cat...and I don't like cats. But I loved George, and boy was I wrong about the experience of today. It has been a true bummer.
Peggy claims that Minew is in mourning. She apparently didn't move all day, then disappeared in the afternoon. I have no idea if she has that special sense of death that some cats supposedly possess...perhaps, she is grieving the loss of her "bodyguard" of one year. She would not be alone because we all certainly miss our buddy. To some he was an ornery cuss...to me and my family, he was special. Bye George, we love you.
Rest in Peace
