Valkyrie “Kyrie” Gage aka Rivkah bat Chava v’ Shoshanah
July 1, 2002-September 23, 2021
I am heartbroken to post
that our beloved sweet and very loving cat, Kyrie, has crossed over the rainbow
bridge to be reunited with her dog pal, Sammie, her true love, Boris, and to
find her Nana Gage, who she adored and liked boys as much as she did. She probably
does not want to see her brother Ziggy, so we won’t go there and the sister she
never met, Pepita, wouldn’t want to meet her.
We “poached” Kyrie at
Railroad Square one night during a run of the fall Faust cabaret. Her
G-dmother, Dr. Sherri Kasper, was in the cast and helped to capture this tiny
gray kitten that chased a bug into our dressing room. Her Aunt Beatrice and
Uncle “Mr. Boy” Matt took her to our house after we were introduced to this
little creature, pounding her paw through the dilapidated beer box that was
serving as her makeshift cage. Her feisty nature was the signal that we had
found a new cat.
Kyrie started out quite
feral. She did not want us to talk to her or touch her and if we picked her up,
she would try to swat us in the lips. Gradually, once she was over the insult
of having been removed from Railroad Square and provided an 1100-square foot
house with beds and chairs and other luxuries, she allowed the “tall one” (who
would later become “Christian mommy” or “Shabbos Goy”) to interact with her. I
would sit outside to do crosswords, and she would wander around the yard and
then eventually sit with me and let me touch her.
It was only after we made
the fatal mistake of adopting Ziggy, a lanky orange boy cat who was the perfect
annoying little brother, that she learned to be truly affectionate. She saw how
Ziggy would get things because he loved to sit in our laps and ride on my
shoulders. Shortly before his sudden death, Kyrie came to me one night, let out
a mournful meow (she normally just trilled) and jumped in my lap, allowing me
to pet her for an hour. She wanted me to know that she knew how to be a lap
cat, too, and that I was forgiven for bringing Ziggy into the fold. Following
his death, she became very affectionate toward both of us, and enjoyed when I
would carry her around the house in my arms or on my shoulder and let her look
at the world from a higher angle.
When she was young, Kyrie
liked to have me roll rocks down the driveway so she could chase them. She was
very good at batting them down and loved to hop like a rabbit when she got
particularly excited. She was an excellent huntress, and once treed a raccoon. For
a time, she would play with a miniature dachshund named Patty. Patty’s owner
would bring her over to the house and the two of them would do sideway ninja
runs across the back of the furniture in the living room and wrestle and tumble
around on the floor.
When Isabelle converted
to Judaism, I made a promise that we would raise Kyrie to be Jewish. This was in
response to the question that had been posed to Isabelle about how she planned
to “keep a Jewish household living with a non-Jew (aka me).” Kyrie enjoyed
sitting with her “Jewish mommy” when she would listen to practice recordings of
the Temple Israel cantor as Isabelle was learning her Torah portion. Kyrie
never quite understood rules of kashrut, believing that the rules did not apply
to “mountain lions” (she was small, but believed herself to be bigger). For
years, Isabelle made Kyrie’s cat food to counter all of her peculiar ailments
that we suspected might have a connection to her diet. This might account for
her longevity.
She always seemed to
enjoy listening to the sounds of Hebrew…and would often walk out on me during
Christian services the minute we started to recite the Apostles or Nicene Creed
or the Lord’s Prayer. She never understood, nor did she appreciate, my absence
to attend seminary. She finally made her displeasure known when she peed all
over my first-year notebooks (thankfully, she waited until AFTER I took the General
Ordination Exams!)
Her decline started about
two weeks after her 19th birthday. We had lots of suggestions of
what might be happening, but in the end, it is unknown exactly what made her go
downhill so quickly. And this last week has been very difficult to watch her
lose all interest or ability to eat. As hard as it was to make the decision to
have her put down, it is the best decision.
We are going to miss her
very expressive little thumb tail, her trilling which in these last few years
developed into full-throated meows, and how she was always wanting to greet us
and anyone who visited. If they happened to be men, well, that was all the
better in her world. Isabelle and I are grateful to Sherri and The Animal
Hospital at Southwood.
Zichronah livracha. May
her memory be for a blessing.
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