Minnaloushe

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Minnaloushe is still alive–this is not an obituary! But she is sick, and I have spent the last two days planning the next steps. Yesterday I took her to the vet, where she had a sonogram and an x-ray, both of which showed a large abdominal mass, probably cancer. The vet gave me an antibiotic for her, just in case the bulge was due to an infection. I am supposed to bring her back next week, but it’s clear that I have three choices: to bring her to Budapest for surgery, to have her put down, or to just let her be (for now). It’s too soon for euthanasia, and the third option seems like procrastination. So I made a surgery appointment for January 2; I’ll come back from my vacation early to bring her in. (My downstairs neighbor, the building superintendent, feeds her while I am away.)

After the appointment, I didn’t have time to bring her back home before my final class of the day, so I brought her to school in her big carrier. That’s probably against the rules, but I saw no other option except to cancel my class, which I didn’t want to do. The students were thrilled to see her and showered her with love. I explained the situation to them; some of them talked about their own pets. During class–a 10th-grade English class that meets with me once a week–we talked about cats and dogs, sang (holiday songs, including a song in Dutch, and the lullaby from A Midsummer Night’s Dream), improvised (“A Midsummer Night’s Christmas”), and played a gift-giving game. Throughout all of this, Minnaloushe sat calmly in her carrier, looking on. Afterward, students crowded around again to look at her, talk about their cats, and show me cat pictures. My colleagues were kind about the situation too. I finished a few things and took her home.

But I meant to tell a little about her here. I adopted her in the winter of 2010-2011 from a friend of a friend in Brooklyn. She was a stray; she had given birth to several litters of kittens, had been spayed, and was living in a basement. She has a sweet, friendly, and cuddly nature; when she had more energy, she would run up to people, even strangers, and rub against them. These days she’s a bit slower, but she does come to greet me at the door.

I named her Minnaloushe after the cat in W. B. Yeats’s poem “The Cat and the Moon,” which I quote here in full.

The Cat and the Moon

W. B. Yeats

The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.

I named Aengus, my cat who died almost two years ago, after another Yeats poem, “The Song of Wandering Aengus.” Despite this Yeats affinity, the two cats did not get along, although they had moments of gentle proximity. Minnaloushe preferred to be the only cat in the home; Aengus enjoyed Minnaloushe but would taunt her (as soon as he grew big and strong enough to do so). I miss Aengus and think of him every day–but Minnaloushe does not. When she realized he was gone, she exulted.

She has always been a little bit lazy–for instance, when it comes to playing with toys. She never would chase after toys on her own; if I threw one her way, she would catch it (if it was close enough), release it, and wait for me to throw it again. So I didn’t notice big changes in her behavior over the past year. A couple of times she seemed to be waddling, but then her gait would go back to normal.

But then, in the past two weeks or so, she started coughing a lot and breathing heavily. I realized that the cat litter was generating lots of dust; I switched brands and saw a big improvement, but not in her. Her belly looked larger than ever, and she seemed to be in pain. In the past she loved to be held, but now she squirms away after a few seconds.

Yet today she seems perkier: not only did she gobble up the new food I brought her from the pet store, but she played a little and climbed up onto my lap. Maybe the antibiotics (which she detests) are doing some good. So all I can do is help her be as comfortable as possible until her surgery on January 2.

Many times in my life I have heard people describe cats as “aloof,” “disdainful,” etc., but the cats I have known, including Minnaloushe, ruffle the stereotype. When I would home from even an overnight absence, Minnaloushe would accost me with meows and then roll over and over on the rug, purring. It’s hard to know what cats think and feel, but think and feel they do, and they attach themselves to particulars. I bet Minnaloushe has a lot to say, but not in anything like the words I know.

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  1. Goodbye, Minnaloushe | Take Away the Takeaway

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    Diana Senechal is the author of Republic of Noise: The Loss of Solitude in Schools and Culture and the 2011 winner of the Hiett Prize in the Humanities, awarded by the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. Her second book, Mind over Memes: Passive Listening, Toxic Talk, and Other Modern Language Follies, was published by Rowman & Littlefield in October 2018. In February 2022, Deep Vellum will publish her translation of Gyula Jenei's 2018 poetry collection Mindig Más.

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