VIOLA - Where is Farley? Where is Far-Far?
It’s time for your breakfast
Time for you to eat now
Ding dang dong
Ding dang dong
This little ditty to the tune of ‘Frere Jacques’ keeps running through my head.
Grandpa Farley’s nickname is Far-Far. He’s my huge gray and black 12-year old tabby cat. I’d say he’s my favorite cat, but I say that about all my cats.
Farley often lies on top of me, when I’m not feeling well. He loves to be held and rocked. Sometimes I think Farley is liquid fur, because when I go to pick him up he melts into my arms like he hasn’t a bone in his body. He’s one of the few cats I’ve lived with that seems to love my hugs—the tighter the better.
Farley is a gentleman cat. He’s a good sport and always waits for Finnegan and Téte to come bounding into the house first before he saunters in. He waits his turn on the counter, happy to be petted while the other cats are chowing down their food.
Like most cats, he’s an accomplished leaper, stellar stalker of mice, and a fan of the cat tower. But his claim to my heart-fame has been his willingness to let me smother him with affection overnight. I lie in bed and call his name. Up the stairs he flies, jumping onto the bed. While he rubs alongside my body, I scooch him closer to me with one hand and pull him in tight. We drift off together with his warm fur pressed against me until his purr turns into a gentle snore. Farley is a tolerant, cool, gentle giant of a cat.
Unfortunately, Farley has been missing since last week. I’ve called him over and over: “Farley! Far-Far! Come on, buddy, time to eat!” Usually Farley is either at the door bright and early, waiting to come in, or sleeping next to me in bed, or in the basement when I go there to feed the dogs–But not recently.
My last sighting of Farley was in my kitchen. He was sitting on the counter purring, while waiting for me to scratch under his chin. Far-Far wasn’t as interested in eating as he was in being scratched, petted, and held. I remember thinking how healthy he was. His fur was thick and shiny, his eyes bright and clear.
Each morning, I rise thinking Farley will be sitting at the door. Each afternoon I come home from work certain that when I go to the basement he’ll be lying on his favorite rug. Each evening, I go to bed praying I’ll see Farley again.
Cats are known for getting around. By day they can go and get fed and loved in one place and by night come back home and get more of the same. I know my Far-Far cat isn’t at the Humane Society. I hope like heck he isn’t dead in a ditch. And he was neutered long ago and has never once shown interest in the neighborhood girls.
Where is Farley? Where is Far-Far?
Being loved with someone
Making someone happy
Ding dang dong
Ding dang dong
Sometimes, we just need to change the song to not feel the hurt of missing someone we love.
