Left of Sound

Rest in Peace, Pele 

(also known as: P, P-Bear, Pedo-Bear (lolz), Honey Bear, and most recently, Honey Boo Boo Child (thanks, internet)) 

1999-2012

Pele, my best friend, died Tuesday morning in what is probably the best way in which a pet can die, if they must die. I was getting dressed for work, ready to walk out the door, when I picked her up from where she was sleeping under my bed and kissed the top of her head to say goodbye just like I have been doing every day since pretty much the day we first met and fell in love (it was love at first sight!). She kind of looked at me, squeaked, and died in my arms while I was holding her like a baby. Commence total breakdown.

I never understood people who had exotic and small pets. It didn’t make sense to me. It seemed bizarre, and pointless, and unnatural. Then I met Ed, and through Ed I met Pele who had been in his life for the entirety of hers, and she quickly became one of the most important facets of my life. Pele did not trust easily, and was never really acclimated to being handled—something I immediately worked to remedy upon meeting, with surprising success given she was already at least 9 years old.

It may sound ridiculous, but Pele had one of the biggest personalities of any pet I have ever known—she frequently made me laugh, was incredibly quick to figure things out, VERY mischievous (punctuated by the fact that you knew she knew she was being bad because her reactions upon catching her doing something bad was priceless), and the most courageous animal I have met (she attacked my parent’s cat every time we went to visit, and was also told by the boarding facility she had to stay at once for a long weekend that every time a dog went by, she would stand against the cage bars trying to swat at their noses, and was particularly smitten with a pit bull (just like dad!)).

She has been sick on and off with mysterious ailments for almost the entirety of my knowing her, with vet’s never finding anything explicitly wrong with her despite the numerous and expensive testing she underwent, but she always recovered and was never the worse for wear. She was recently fully recovered from another one of these bouts, when a horrible and ridiculous and traumatic accident struck that was entirely my fault, and which left her seemingly paralyzed. I assumed she would have to be put down at that time, but x-rays didn’t show any damage to her bones or organs, and with some pain meds and steroids she started making rapid improvements and seemed mostly back to normal, the only noticeable damage being one of her front legs being a bit wonky. Obviously, something more serious was going on internally that didn’t show up on the scans.

She helped me through some really trying times. Two years ago I was finishing my senior thesis, which I spent countless sleepless nights working on, on the verge of many nervous breakdowns. During these late night sessions, Pele would always come and keep me company, sleeping on my feet or entertaining me with some of her ridiculous antics which I’m convinced is the only reason I was able to remain (mostly) sane during that time. More recently, I moved to a new state, a new part of the country, without knowing a single person within a 700 mile radius and Pele made the move with me, being my one reminder of home, and being a constant (and often much-needed) reminder that I am Loved.

It’s the little things that I miss. I miss seeing her poke her fuzzy little head out at me from under my bed every time I walk into my room. I miss her jumping up and down on her back feet any time I was eating an apple, wanting a piece. I miss leaving my room, and coming back to find her dancing on my keyboard causing all sorts of ridiculous havoc on my computer screen. I get sad when I look at my bookcase and see the chew marks on the bindings of some nearly all of my books. I get sad when I bump into her cage, and hear the sound of her food bowl moving against the cage bars, which makes me think that she’s in there happily stuffing her fat li’l face, only to be reminded that she’s not. There’s still hay in her cage. Her food bowl still has food. Her water dish still has water. I’m not able to deal with these things yet.

If there is any kind of karmic/reincarnation justice out there, I hope she is rewarded handsomely, because she has one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known, and made my life infinitely happier.

I miss you, P, and hope you’re enjoying all the sunshine and raisins and delicious grasses you can possibly handle.