The Standing Room

Caturday Met Broadcast

Bert on the set of Doctor Atomic

Lovely Rose, Gone

Bert and Tiny: sad, sad, sad.

The End of an Era:Bert and Tiny Kitten (1988-2008)

We let Tiny Kitten go on Thursday, less than four months after Bert's death. She, too, was 20.

She was in most ways a Yin counterpart to Bert's Yang: she was as reclusive as Bert was sociable, as neurotic as he was easygoing. She was sparing in her interactions with interlopers (i.e., our friends; indeed, some people we've know for years have really only seen her in pictures), but she was as big a presence as gregarious Bert, in her own kooky way (c.f. Koyaaniscatsi).

Tiny underwent a number of transformations in the time I've known her, from an itty-bitty frightened little thing under the covers to a big-through-the-hips roomy gal who dared to sleep on my chest, to the Empress Dowager barking out demands from her throne, and back to the tiniest kitten in the world, reduced to 1/3 of her peak weight, feeble and confused. The last transition was surprisingly fast, almost too fast for me to realize what was happening. On Thursday I was concerned when we got to the vet that she might still have some fight left in her, but in fact she passed in seconds, without any resistance in her eyes. She was clearly done.

And so in just a few short months a period in our lives has come to a quick close, the era of Bert and Tiny Kitten. We spent much of the weekend disoriented in our own home, unaccustomed to the stillness in the absence of our daily companions. While looking through a stash of old photos, I remembered that, years ago, I used to think of Edmund Waller's Go, Lovely Rose—"Bid her come forth,/ Suffer herself to be desired,/ And not blush so to be admired"—when trying unsuccessfully to coax Tiny out from under the bed so that one or another visitor could become acquainted with her loveliness. Upon re-reading it today, I was reminded of the final stanza, which immediately follows the lines above:

Then die—that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Good night, kittens.

Wie lieblich sind Berts Wohnungen

I want to thank everyone who has shared a thought with us on Bert's death. I don't know how to say it any better than just that it has meant a lot, getting all the emails and messages and calls and comments, and we appreciate it truly. I wish you all had had a chance to meet him; he certainly would have wanted to meet you. He was a social guy, always friendly and amiable, inquisitive and adaptable, internationally renowned for his courtesy and particularly fine coat.

Last Labor Day weekend, as I entertained myself decontextualizing Anna Netrebko quotes in front of the computer, Bert found his amusement outdoors in the garden, where he was having his last big weekend romp. We had herded the cats into the car for a ride up to our friend Mr. T—'s Healdsburg bungalow, where Bert could have a fun-in-the-sun vacation.

So it felt fitting when Mr. T— offered to let us bury Bert in the garden, and agreed to play the role of gravedigger. We placed Bert in the ground with his little green honeysuckle cushion, which has indisputably been his favorite possession since F&J gave it to him as a present nearly a decade ago. (I recall us laughing that day at the ridiculous cartoon cat on the packaging, which was pictured hugging the cushion. Then we looked down and saw Bert lying on his side, trying to hug the damn thing to his chest.) We replaced the dirt with our hands. He's under an orange tree now.

I heard/sang a bunch of music last week—both New York Voices sets at Yoshi's, a vocal jazz class, a Holy Thursday service, Dudamel leading the SF Symphony in the complete Firebird, Flicka and Jackie in a Pauline Viardot tribute—good extramural excursions, all. But home is a little quieter now, and it is interesting to find ourselves so keenly aware of absence instead of presence.

Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras

Bert (1988-2008)

I dreamt last night that we had a harpsichord, and that Bert peed on it.

Perhaps he was more of a contemporary music guy at heart.

It was clear from the time we got up this morning that something was not right. People have been telling us, you'll know when it's time. Today he let us know.

I went to see the 10:30am broadcast of Peter Grimes (highly recommended, repeat showing on Sunday), had lunch, and returned home around 4pm. As Kevin was preparing to head out for a show around 7pm, Bert made it known that the time had come. I think he wanted us both to be here.

He died at home around 8pm. It is odd to hold a creature as he breathes his last breath.  He was a most gentle and genteel being, and we cared for him very much. I hope we have done right by him.

I've posted the photo below before, but it feels appropriate to repost tonight.

Strange how fine the line between laughing and crying can be.

Beim Schlafengehen

Tiny Kitten blisses out to her fifth Im Abendrot of the day

Sena Jurinac, Stockholm Phil, Fritz Busch (1951)
Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Philharmonia Orch, Otto Ackermann (1953)
Lisa della Casa, Wiener Phil, Karl Böhm (1953)
Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Berlin RSO, George Szell (1966)
Leontyne Price, New Philharmonia Orch, Erich Leinsdorf (1973)
Gundula Janowitz, Berliner Phil, Herbert von Karajan (1973)
Montserrat Caballé, Orch Phil Strasbourg, Alain Lombard (1976)
Elisabeth Söderström, Royal Phil Orch, Antal Dorati (1976)
Kiri Te Kanawa, London Symph Orch, Andrew Davis (1978)
Lucia Popp, London Phil Orch, Klaus Tennstedt (1982)
Jessye Norman, Gewandhausorch Leipzig, Croque Monsieur (1982)
Cheryl Studer, Staatskapelle Dresden, Giuseppe Sinopoli (1994)
Renée Fleming, Houston Symphony Orchestra, Christopher Eschenbach (1995)
Barbara Bonney, Malcolm Martineau (piano arrangement, 1998)
[in progress]

Some commentary on Deborah Voigt's performances last week with SF Symph here and here. Meanwhile, I have no words:

P.S. If I owe you an email, please accept my apologies. I'll be back in action soon, I hope.

Vingt Regards:X. Sunday in the Park with Bert

~~~~~~

Vingt Regards / I. Strange Bedfellows / II. A New Era, Indeed / III. Hommage à Paolo Conte / IV. Hommage à S. Bar. / V. They Speak According to the Book / VI. Overheard in New York / VII. In Rotation: August 2007 / VIII. LA Phil's New Housemate / IX. Apples and Amoebas

Vingt Regards:IV. Hommage à S. Bar.

Berton, black Berton,
How happy we are
Alone together,
Blogger and cat.

Each has his own work to do daily:
For you it is sleeping, for me posting.
Your shining eye watches the wall;
My feeble eye is fixed on the screen.

You rejoice when your jaws
Entrap some kibble;
I rejoice when my stats
Show a spike in visitors.

Pleased with his own art,
Neither hinders the other;
Thus we live ever
Without tedium and flamers.

Berton, black Berton,
How happy we are
Alone together,
Blogger and cat.

Bert entered OMC's life as a tiny, lively kitten 19 years ago this month.

~~~~~~

Vingt Regards:
I. Strange Bedfellows
II. A New Era, Indeed
III. Hommage à Paolo Conte

Feline Foto Friday: On the Move (Again)

If anyone has any practical advice about standing room for Trittico on Monday night, please let me know. (It's been a long time, I haven't kept up on the policy changes, and I can't get there that morning...)

Currently freaking out over: Miho Hatori, Ecdysis (tx, Mlle CC—)

4/23 UPDATE:

Q. What's even better than $20 standing room or rush tickets?

A. Being handed an orchestra seat ticket out of the blue for free. (Thanks to M. M— and JSA for the suggestions, and brava, ACB!)

Feline Foto Friday: People Who Need "People"

Edward Gorey at home in Yarmouthport, Mass., 1992

"He lived with as many as six cats at a time: the 'people,' he claimed, to whom he felt closest."
—Susan Lumenello (Harvard Magazine, March–April 2007)

Photo © Steve Marsel Studio Inc.