I have two older, wonderful sisters who at this very moment are putting their beloved cat, Biko, down. Biko was a lovely cat who acted more like my sister, Caroline’s, child than an actual cat. He was about 17yrs old (?) I believe.
Rescued by my sisters as a kitten, Biko Masekela — named after Stephen Bantu Biko (a South African anti-apartheid activist) and Hugh Masekela (a South African jazz musician) — was the youngest of three cats. Even though my sister, Jo, originally brought him home and even though they co-parented very well together, Biko mostly preferred my sister Caroline …
He often enjoyed:
waiting for Carol to come home … waiting for Carol to come out of the bathroom … waiting for Carol to feed him … waiting for Carol to play w/ him and pet him … waiting for Carol to wake up and do it all over again … trying to do adventurous “cat” stuff like going outdoors, however, was never great at finding his way back home and often got lost — leading to many frantic, teary-eyed, “missing cat” searches … and finding creative ways to eat his food before his brother, Redmond, got to it …
My beautiful sisters’ took this little, itty, bitty kitten from a nasty situation and gave him a home with an endless amount of love, affection and kibble. Although, he was always a bit skittish and untrusting, given his previous home life, Biko was able to warm up to my sisters’ other family members … although he never did quite care for my nephew, Carol’s 7y/o son …
Knowing the profound sorrow my sisters are experiencing at this moment … and the bittersweet pangs of pain and happiness memories of him will bring forever, I decided on posting an “open letter” from Biko to them to help them thru this extremely difficult time (poem written by Mary Elizabeth Frye) …
Biko is survived by his brother, Redmond and my sisters’, Joanna and Caroline …
(From Biko, with love)
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
