Governor Davis was late to his own funeral.
It wasn’t his fault really as he wasn’t the one driving. Nor could he drive, as Governor Davis was a cat. A Snowshoe to be specific, almost 15 years old. He was late because his owner, a currently disheveled and distraught non-practicing family physician, was making many stops along the way to the veterinarian’s office. Governor didn’t mind the detours or the delay, as he was comfortably snuggled on his master’s lap, wrapped in a wool blanket that he had no particular attachment to, but was cozy nonetheless. The other member of their party, an aging Siberian Husky, thoughtfully took in the drive from the back seat, and like the others paid little attention to the time.
As any governor would, Governor Davis had spent that early afternoon having his portrait made. Unfortunately there was no world-renown photographer available, so his owner stood in for the event. The photographs were taken in the large backyard of a friends home in the country, and the weather was sunny and the light accommodated the images. Governor struck many distinguished and daring poses, not certain if he should be remembered with a somber and humble pose, or a playful and frivolous demeanor. He tried out both and decided to let his photographer sort it all out. Some obligatory group photos followed, goodbyes were said, and then Governor Davis let everyone know he was winding down. He strolled one last time through the garden, and even made his way to the chicken coop to offer one final threatening glare towards a feathered creature.
He tiredly made his way upstairs to his guest room and took a shower, which while unusual for most cats was routine for Governor. A meal of cream and tuna fish was served as a sort of informal late lunch, and he thoughtfully consumed what he knew to be his last meal. He took a short nap with his friend the dog, and then spent the last half hour lounging lazily on his owner’s chest, listening to Christmas music and purring contently.
When they finally arrived at the clinic, the issue of the business itself was conducted quickly and matter-of-factly, just as Governor Davis preferred to do things. He chose to take ten minutes to spend with his owner, and there were tears and hugs. The meeting closed with thanks and gratitude. Then his doctor, a traditional country vet, interrupted respectfully and offered Governor a mild sedative which he accepted in his owner’s arms. He felt his eyelids becoming heavy and offered his master a final gaze and a wink. He purred softly when the vet came back to give him the final medication and his thoughts faded away from those of a busy individual such as himself, and into a peaceful quiet.
His owner took some time with him and when the doctor came back he quietly led them out of the clinic. As the death of a notable figure can often draw unwanted attention from the public, Governor Davis and his owner were discretely led out through the back of the clinic. They were in the car and on their way before anyone even noticed.
The drive home was somber but kept upbeat with some of Governor’s favorite music kept at a respectable volume. He rested in state on his owner’s lap, nestled in his blanket. As they had on their drive to the clinic, they made several stops along the way to places of interest in his life- his first apartment, the homes of friends, and even the shelter from where he had been adopted on a Valentine’s Day almost 14 years earlier.
His curious name was the point of many discussions throughout his life. It had been given to him the day he was adopted, and it was the only name that could ever suit him. An older cat at the time he was nearly a year old when he found himself at the county animal shelter. Months had passed without any prospect of a home, and the day Governor Davis and his owner first met was on the final day of his final extension at the shelter. His owner, at that time a college student, had come to the shelter with his girlfriend looking for a kitten which was to be a Valentine’s gift for the young man. Fortunately for Governor, there were no kittens at the shelter that day. Ultimately he was selected for his dignity and common sense- as he was the only cat in the shelter not sleeping in his own litter box. That and his crystal blue eyes. It was joked that he had received his ‘Governor’s Pardon’, and the name was set. Later it was validated by the cat as he sat waiting for his first exam and neutering. He was seated next to a dog whose owner was at that time the state’s actual governor. While he didn’t care very much for the dog, he very much liked the respect and attention the name drew both to the dog’s owner and to himself.
Governor Davis experienced much during his long life, earning respect and admiration from those he met along the way. Traveling frequently as part of his work he had the opportunity to see much of the country, though his many obligations kept him from traveling abroad. Despite the breadth of his travels and adventures he always called the Southeastern United States his home, and when he became ill in his old age this was where he decided to spend his final months in quiet and thoughtful repose.
The final chapter in his life closed quietly that evening when he was buried just before sunset. His owner worked with a pickaxe and a shovel to make a hole three feet deep in the dense red clay. The dog came out and laid down near his master and enjoyed the unseasonably warm December evening, lost in his own thoughts about the day. When the time came to commit the body to the ground, his owner unwrapped him from his blanket to take one last look at his long-time friend and companion. Despite the fact that it had been almost three hours since Governor had left this world, his body still radiated the warmth and comfort that he was known for during his life. He was wrapped lovingly in the t-shirt his owner had worn during their last lazy days together, the arms tied in a permanent hug. A small stuffed Siberian Husky was nuzzled against him. Finally he was bundled in the blanket to keep him warm during the upcoming winter. He was gently lowered into the ground, and the hole was filled with his native Southern soil. By the time the work was done, the sun had set and it had been dark for almost an hour. The gravesite was tidied, and a marker was constructed out of sticks and pinecones to mark the resting place of one of the Southeast’s great figures. The doctor and the dog said their goodbyes, and walked back to the house, and the late Governor Davis was left to preside over a stately view of horse pastures, live oaks, and Spanish moss.
