FINIAN'S WAKE

by Helen Lewison
(San Francisco, Ca.)

Finian McLonergan

I think I loved Finian more than anything or anyone in my life. When I came home from wherever I was I would call out “Honey, I’m home”. He would appear at the top of the stairs looking down at me. I would walk up the stairs and usually; he would follow me into the kitchen for a snack or accompany me as I took off my coat, put groceries away or just sit watching me from across the room. When he stretched out so gracefully in front of heater, I always found delight in his presence. Now he is gone and I mourn my loss. My husband is gone and other loved ones but Finian belonged only to me. No mother, no father, no siblings, and no friends to remember him.
Finian died December 3l, l999. Finian wrote the prologue to my book “Seduction of Silence”. He was at my side through the long painful months after your master died.

Now I am truly alone and the silence that surrounds me is unbearable.”

Maybe, I’ll just write his biography. His life was unique and as meaningful as anyone I’ve ever known. No one but me can try to give him a place in history. I will try to recall the highlights.


My husband fell in love with cats at a late stage of his life. I had several as a child and also as an adult. I had been cat less for a very long time and now my mate was joining me in my secret desire.

We finally went to the SPCA and began our search for that special someone. In the little cage, I saw him looking up at me with those beautiful eyes. I was in love with a small brown tabby kitten with a long plume of a tail, an insolent look in his eyes that said “Don’t ever take me for granted”. That was at the end of July l98l. Little did I know then that he was to live with me for over eighteen years and share some of the most dramatic days in my life!

We adopted him and brought him home. I said “Now listen here kitty, I put your litter box in the downstairs bathroom, so don’t go messing about upstairs”. With that statement, I took the kitten into the bathroom, showed him the litter box and took him upstairs. A little later, our new “friend” scurried out of the room and I followed. He went to the top of the stairs, he couldn’t quite reach the steps; he proceeded to slide down the carpeted stairs on his stomach and then jumped into the downstairs room and hurried to his box. I told my husband “We’ve adopted a genius, a real Einstein”. And, Finian proved me right over and over again.

We couldn’t decide what to name him. We placed him on the couch and started talking to him. He looked first at my husband and then at me. Whoever was speaking soft words of praise, he would move over to that side. Then, as he heard other words, he moved over to the other side. I said, “You know, he’s a Finian”. In the musical “Finian’s Rainbow”, there is a song that goes something like this “If I’m not with the one I love, I love the one I’m with”. He is a Finian, lovable but fickle.” We couldn’t have picked a more suitable name. He was truly a son of the old sod, full of blarney and could charm the shirt off anybody, especially the two of us.

I said to my husband “You know in a few months, we will have to neuter him”. “What did you say” was his reply. “You are not taking away his manhood.” I said “But, we want him indoors as much as possible and male cats spray, you wouldn’t like the odor. Also I understand if and when he goes out, he won’t get into any fights.” Ha, the fights turned out to be one of the best things Finian got into. Actually, I think he welcomed them.

Finian was not a “house” cat. He would go downstairs look out the window at the outside world and howl. And howl and howl; especially if he happened to see another cat. He liked us well enough but (I hate to say this), he was racist. He liked us but we weren’t cats. He preferred his own kind and though as he got older and stayed in more, the company of other cats was always his cup of tea. We had no argument with that, being the liberals we fancied ourselves to be. At times though, we did feel left out. People would say, “Finian thinks he’s like you, a person”. I always answered “No, he just thinks we’re big cats”.

Then came the big day, the day that Finian became a “man” or when I thought the time was right. He had been looking out the window downstairs again. This time, he wanted to go out and not to play. He had other things on his mind and so did I. My husband wasn’t home and I did what a gal’s gotta do. I took Finian to the veterinarian for a minor adjustment. He came through this surgery without a whimper.

After that, Finian chose to stay out most of the day and could be seen wandering down the hill. I used to say we have a green cat. He was very hard to spot with his camouflage coat among the bushes and weeds. I know he never met a cat he didn’t want to fight and fight he did. Even the cats he seemed to like didn’t seem to stop him from having a tussle with them from time to time. Our vet bills continued every few months or so. After all the other cats gave as good as they got. We soon began to call him a member of the Sinn Fein (the Irish terrorist group). Actually, we secretly took a bit of pride in his macho temperament. He walked about with such dignity, his beautiful full tail upright. He looked about with his large green luminous eyes carefully surveying his world.

Many evenings, he stayed out late. We had a cat door for him to come and go as he pleased. Of course, we never called him “Kitty, kitty, kitty”. Never, not this cat. We started early on by singing “When Irish eyes are smiling” from the back door late at night. If we sang loud enough and long enough, most times he would saunter up the back steps into the house.

I buried Finian on January l6, 2000. He didn’t accompany me into the millennium. I requested that he be cremated and when I picked up the small box containing all that is left of my beloved, Finian, I began crying again. I knew where I would place him; I always knew where he belonged when he died. I went out to the National Cemetery where my husband is buried and dug a nice deep hole in which to place the tiny coffin. In front of the stone marking my husband’s grave is an unmarked grave containing a very special cat. I placed two American flags at the gravesite, attached to one flag is a small green battered toy mouse that Finian used to play with a long time ago. I have now lost the only living link to my late husband.

These last few years, there was a silent rapport we had with each other, just Finian and me. My book “Seduction of Silence” is now beautifully printed with an elegant cover of a cat and on the back is a picture of me holding my Finian. There are so many stories in the book about Finian, conversations with Finian and I wish I could hold him close to me again. If anyone tells me that by writing this I will have “closure”, I will laugh. Not funny, never funny. When someone you love dies there is no closure. They stay with you forever and I wouldn’t want it any other way.