Emulating Cody

The WGC - There Will Never Be Another

      One of my fonder memories of the last stages of her life would be holding her before I went into the shower. I’ve always been an odd duck; and, one of the things I loved to do each night is to literally sit on the bathroom floor and listen to the water run inside the shower before hopping in and washing up. Cody would step into the bathroom sometimes and approach me. I would pick her up and hold her in my arms right there on the floor. She could hear the water running right behind her head, but Cody trusted me enough to resist her feline impulse to get away. She would simply rest there in my arms, looking up, content.

      Cody, who I’ve long referred to as the WGC – the World’s Greatest Cat – passed away last Sunday. We were with her for almost ten years. Needless to say, my wife and are grieving. Profoundly. We’re told the grief will lessen, but I doubt it will ever go away. Frankly, I don’t think it should, at least not entirely. For Cody was one of us. She, my wife, and I were a unit, a team. Our home didn’t consist of a couple with a pet. It consisted of a family of three. And an immediate member of that family is now gone. There’s probably a better word than “sad” to describe how I’m feeling at the moment, but I can’t think of one. To be frank, I’ve never felt so sad in my life.

      Yet, all is not darkness. It rarely is. Although Jen and I are in mourning, we’re blessed with the realization that we had someone truly special in our lives. I used to tell Cody she was a gift from God – because she was. Happy to see us, even when we were at our worst, trusting of us to a fault, and affectionate (not always a common trait among felines), Cody made sure we knew she was among us, was one of us, that we were important to her. This ability to make her presence felt extended beyond asking for “wet treats” and whipped cream. “Time to wake up Sean,” Jen would tell her in the morning, and off she’d go to the bedroom to rouse me. Cody didn’t want anything in particular. She just wanted me up and about with the rest of the family. She didn’t need to do it, but she did.

      Cody made you feel special.

      And that, I suppose, is the lesson from all this. We ache for all those we love and lose, but those who elevate us, who make us feel more special than we deserve to, who want us around when no one else in their right mind would want to be near us, truly are treasures that should be cherished – even after they’re gone. Jen and I fervently hope and pray we see Cody again. Until then, though, we have to move on, keep her memory alive, and – yes – take a lesson from her time with us. For those who elevate others through their love and actions are not only worthy of our praise, they’re worth emulating, as well.