The 189 miles we covered scratched boldly at the door of eccentricity. When onlookers saw Ruby—a beautiful, inquisitive, and elderly tuxedo cat—standing proudly at the helm of his pram, his sturdy little shoulders adorned in a blue blanket patterned with clouds, I believe they instantly made an assessment: this boy is deeply, undeniably loved.
He brought pure joy to every village we passed. It felt as though people came from the four corners of the earth just to tell us how beautiful he was and how much we had brightened their day.
The bittersweet irony of it all was tinged with a quiet sadness. This fabulous creature had spent his life as a sheltered house cat, yet here at the very precipice of his existence, when his precious time was running out, strangers were reaffirming what we already so deeply knew: it was an absolute blessing to have him. Thank you for stopping by and sharing in this memory.
If you have a cat that has received a similar devastating prognosis and you are walking through the dark corridors of grief yourself, please know this: three weeks after his passing, this journey is the only thing that makes sense to me. Grief happens, and grief is simply the receipt we pay for love. Ruby was indisputably loved. In truth, I wept more over his passing than I did over the loss of my own mother. Whether I should be embarrassed to confess that, or proud to admit it, is entirely up to you, the listener, to decide.
There is one more thing I must say. Someone was running parallel with me on every single step of this 90-day odyssey. It was the lady who is no stranger to genius ideas. As we sat entirely broken-hearted on a bench in Stockton Heath, she designated that light would break through our darkness. She promptly ordered the pram and that fateful blue cloud blanket that shielded Ruby’s shoulders on every single outing. Wrapped up with a hot water bottle, completely intrigued by the world, he would sit at the helm. I am immensely proud of Carolyn and myself for the fierce tenacity we employed to make that happen for him.
On the devastating day Ruby passed, I instinctively hid the pram before Carolyn got home, fearing it would utterly break her to see it empty. But later that afternoon, on a sudden impulse, I brought it back out of the “Zen Den” we had created for our cats. We placed little Moon inside and took her out. Unlike Ruby, she cried all the way to the park. I filmed that first bittersweet journey. On the way back, she grew quiet. Thwarted by raw emotion, I couldn’t bear to look at the video that day. When I finally watched it the next morning, I was amazed. She was so vibrant, so utterly intrigued. That night, after returning home, she shed all her usual inhibitions and mental torment. She was totally angelic, sleeping peacefully on our bed. We have never seen her so remarkably playful, and we were completely enamored by her transformation.
I believe the profound lesson here is that house cats, when allowed to safely experience the great outdoors in a pram, are liberated from the constraints of four walls. It is enormously invigorating for their spirits. Because of this, we intend to get two prams and embark on a grand 1,000-mile journey with our lovely cats, Millie and Moon, seeking sponsorship from various partners along the way. It is through sharing these extraordinary stories that faith is born in the absolute beauty of our pets. We believe we should always remain hyper-aware of the luxury of touch—and how, when we reach for them or they reach out a paw to us (just as Ruby always did), that connection alone is a reason for boundless gratitude.
LCChaosandhome 