Kirby
There is a line in the Plain White T’s song Hey There Delilah- which sings, “The world will never ever be the same. And you’re to blame.” I love this lyric, for its simplicity about how the world can change in an instant and in it’s entendre of switching the negative to a positive.
More often than not we blame someone or something for something bad, yet there are positive things that arise from interactions and from opening our hearts and the culprits of such things pretty and sweet are most certainly to be blamed.
Growing up my family had several dogs, most of whom were named Brandy. (Those who have been hanging with me will know why, and those who may want to know- merely need to inquire and I will share once again.) I enjoyed these animals but felt much more akin to the dozens of cats we had over the years. Albeit, ‘dozens’ may be an exaggeration, yet it feels right in this moment. This actuality, of responding more to the cats of my youth, and my eventually growing up to be somewhat of a gypsy, lead me to believe that I was a cat person.
Cats are spirited and loners and free wheeling and mysterious and cantankerous and cuddly on their own terms. All things I could understand and relate to- they also didn’t need someone to be home on time or to follow a strict schedule. Again, a necessity for any sort of creature to be a part of my life through the majority of my adulthood. I was good with being a cat person. A cat person, who didn’t actually have cats- but a cat person all the same. I would proclaim it and most assuredly not ever shy away from it when the topic was broached.
And then I met Kirby.
I met Len before I met Kirby. Len was Kirby’s human and my partner. Len referred to Kirby as, “My little Bunny!” The description fit the fluff ball of a Pomeranian that was Kirby. Sweet little face with a punctuated nose and a charm that could sweep even the most staunch cat person off their feet. I had not ever met a Pomeranian before I met Kirby, and that was fine- for Kirby was the essence of all things good and entrancing about Pomeranians. At least as far as I could tell by falling in love with her and watching her work her wiles on others.
Kirby enjoyed the non fenced yard, yet never strayed from it unless given permission to run down the hill to friends who were expecting her. Everyone was expecting Kirby, for a visit from Kirby would make you smile no matter your mood. When Kirby wanted in, she wouldn’t bark, she would politely wait at the back door until you showed up to grant her access. Kirby’s favorite snack was cheese and she would steal a slice of pizza right off your plate. Kirby thought she was invisible when she hid under the chair; watching her try to be surreptitious only delighted us more.
There were times when my old ways came to focus and I had momentary patches of resentment. Not toward Kirby herself: for having to be there to let her out, from be awakened by Kirby’s best friend to go for a walk, for not being as footloose and fancy free as perhaps a cat would have allowed me to be. These times were fleeting and soon forgotten- mostly before they had even happened.
One look down at the fur ball on my thigh while writing, open concerns that she was safely on the bed, watching her play with Sammy No Rats (the cat), observing her take on the world from the vantage point of our ankles- was all it would ever take to melt any woes, or days gone by of being a self proclaimed cat person.
Kirby passed away. Long before her time and long before anyone in this world was ready for her to go. When I read the news, I acted before I could think. I jumped up from the couch, tears forming in my eyes and paced the room a few times. I ran into the room (where Alicia had been sleeping for hours) and blurted out that Kirby died. I sat on the bed and cried. I sat where, if this were the bed that Kirby knew, she would have been sleeping soundly with a teeny tiny snore. Alicia held me and calmed me down. She was no stranger to Kirby through the many stories I had shared and often asked if we needed to go get me a pomeraranian. I was numb for a few days, and even as I type this- there are tears in my eyes.
My heart exploded for that little half pint of a dog. Exploded in a way to not ever go back. I love dogs- all of them it seems. I still love cats, but am no longer a single species person. The witch in me will always make room for the cats of the world, only now dogs are welcome too. And fish- we mustn’t forget the fish. I love animals, as I always have, yet my snobbishness and preferences have all but disappeared for good. And yes, Kirby is to blame.
Now that I am openly an animal person, there are some that say I have quite the animal magnetism. I have noticed that animals come right up to me and/or follow me. Even at the zoo, I am captivated by the animals coming up to greet me or walk the length of their cage with me as I pass by. I talk to animals as I speak with humans and I believe they understand me, at least some of the time. I am not so sure if all this means I have a heightened animal magnetism, or if I have simply been touched by Kirby.
Thank you Len for sharing Kirby with me. And Kirby, you will live on in my heart forever and a day as well as in all the souls of the animals we are lucky enough to embrace.
Viva Le Kirby- the best little bunny ever!