When an Irish person suffers a grievous loss, the response will most often come in the form of a lament. The dictionary says a lament may involve mourning aloud or a wail. It expresses sorrow and deep regret. The lament may take the form of a poem or of a song or of a sermon. It may be an essay such as this one or it may be a letter to the Editor of the local newspaper. Or it may be simply staring out a window with the forlorn hope that what has really happened never did happen. Whatever form it takes, it is the Irish person’s response to a loss of major significance.
This lament is for Shamrock, an orange and white tiger striped male cat who lived with us for only a month from August 7th until September 11th. Unfortunately and unhappily, Shamrock met his death from one or more wild dogs that roam the woods around this town and are occasionally seen in populated areas. Shamrock weighed less than 11 pounds. He stood no chance at all in a fight to the death with one or more wild dogs.
There are gamblers who sometimes say, “If I have any luck at all, it will probably be bad luck.” In his short lifetime of one year, old Shamrock had enough bad luck to last at least nine lifetimes. Consider this: his original owner abandoned him. More than abandonment, he betrayed Shamrock, who was a kitten at the time. When it was time for the original owners to move, he packed everything except the kitten, and left. Shamrock as a baby cat, was left to do the best he could. Under these circumstances, abandonment and betrayal are not words of sufficient strength to define what was done to this kitten.
It must be supposed as Shamrock wandered around, he was eventually picked up and turned in to the authorities. He was placed in a temporary arrangement called a “kill shelter.” This means that if someone does not claim the animal, he will be destroyed after a few days and cremated. The term “kill shelter” may not please the aesthetes among us, but in practical terms, it is undeniably a matter of utter simplicity.
In New Jersey, there is an organization called “Orphaned Pets, Inc.” This organization is a non-profit corporation founded for the sole purpose of helping unwanted domestic animals find compassionate, caring homes. They say, “Each dog or cat is rescued from a kill shelter and fostered in the home of a volunteer until adopted.” Mrs. Claudine Cheung of Randolph, N.J. rescued Shamrock from the kill shelter and provided him with a foster home. Claudine deserves a medal for the work she has done to provide for abandoned and orphaned pets.
One of Claudine’s permanent guests is a large dog that she rescued from a junk yard in Newark or Jersey City. My weight would qualify me for a lineman in professional football. When that dog was placed in my custody while Claudine tended to some paper work, the dog went where she wanted to go and her temporary handler was reduced to pretending that is where he wanted to go also. The only danger from the former junk yard dog is that she will snuggle and love and lick you to death.
When Claudine took her new cat into her home, she called him “Horatio.” My recollection is that Horatio in history, was a brave fellow. Horatio Alger was a fictional character who achieved success by self reliance and hard work. From his experience before he was given a foster home, Claudine’s new boarder certainly had at least shown self reliance in abundance.
Claudine worked hard at placing Horatio in a loving home. To that end, she took her boarder to places where he might be seen. One of her calls was to the Madison, N.J. Farmer’s Market which is held each week in the summer. For years, we have almost always patronized the local Millburn, N.J. Farmer’s Market. We may go to the Madison Market only once or twice in a year. For reasons that will be left to the clairvoyants, this year, we visited the Madison Market twice, at the end of July and again on August 5th.
When the last tomato and ears of corn had been bought, we headed for the car on a hot day. The farmers who sell produce are, for all intents and purposes, in a long line on one side of the market. We will call that the right side. On the left side, there was a solitary stand with an umbrella and several people who seemed to have an interest in what was going on. Simply to satisfy our curiosity, we wandered over to the stand on the left side which had no produce for sale. What we found there was a lot more interesting than radishes or cabbages. This stand had some cats and perhaps at least one dog. As we found out, it was the stand of the Orphaned Pets, Inc.
At that point, we had no other intention than to pet the animals and to ask about their backgrounds. On the far side of the table, was a portable cage in which old Horatio lay sprawled out on the bottom. For nearly 15 years, we had a cat who ran this house named Shannon. Old Horatio in the portable cage, had the orange and white markings of our departed Shannon. And when my middle finger was inserted through the wires on the portable cage, Horatio played with it gently. So we left the market and started driving home.
We did not get very far before the cat with markings similar to Shannon came up. As we said, this was on August 5th. A thought lurked in my mind, that two days hence, it would be Judy’s birthday. So we drove around Madison and debated about taking on the responsibility of being the parents of an orange and white cat. The debate must not have lasted long as we were still in Madison when it was decided to go back to the Farmer’s Market and stake our claim to Claudine’s Horatio. When Judy told Claudine we wanted that cat, Claudine seemed pleased. She announced to the assembled audience, “Horatio has been adopted!” Indeed he had.
We met the next day at the Madison Pet Store. In preparation for our meeting, Judy had bought out the inventory of the Millburn Feed Company stock. There were cans of food and toys. There was a beautifully arranged basket which invited cats to come in and take a nap. There were collars and brushes and other kinds of accessories.
So we met Claudine in Madison with a new portable cage for Horatio-Shamrock to be carried in from one place to another. Before we left to meet Claudine, there was a high level executive session here about the new cat’s name. His predecessors who lived long lives here had Irish names. First, there was Sean, the Gaelic name for James. He was followed by the much beloved Shannon. Perhaps it could be argued that Shannon is a girl’s name and it could be argued that Shannon is the main international airport in Ireland named after a small near-by village. It seemed to us that far away voices were calling for Shamrock. And Shamrock it was. Those far away voices again intervened and said with the new cat starting a new phase of his life, that he should have an outstanding, distinguished Irish name. And so the former Horatio was named for the national flower of Ireland, the Shamrock.
Legend has it that the shamrock had a close association with St. Patrick, Ireland’s national saint. And so, with or without his consent, the new cat was named Shamrock.
After we picked up Shamrock at the Madison Pet Store, when we got a few feet outside, a six or seven year old boy dressed in a Karate suit, asked what we had in the cage. He was told it was a cat named Shamrock. The boy seemed puzzled and said that he had never heard of a cat named Shamrock. So the boy was gently asked if it would be better to name the cat “Rover” or “Spot”? The little boy in the Karate suit now said he thought Shamrock was a good name. That was interpreted by his new guardians as a special blessing.
We were advised by several people to leave Shamrock in a confined space near his food and sanitary facilities. In point of fact, Shamrock mastered those facts instantly and began to satisfy his enormous curiosity about the basement. He smelled the walls and the furnace. He leaped to my bench. From there it was easy to reach the top of the basement refrigerator. There is a beveled ledge at the top of the concrete blocks that form the basement. On top of it is a finished cement surface. Old Shamrock walked all around on that beveled edge. All of these things were done to satisfy his enormous curiosity. He did absolutely nothing maliciously.
Before the day was out, Shamrock was permitted to come upstairs. This house is called a split level. From the basement to the red room at the top bedroom, it is a five level house. Old Shamrock set out to explore every level and every wall and every chair. As time went by, we expanded Shamrock’s horizon’s by introducing him to the garage and to the porch. He identified several chairs on the porch and in the living room as “HIS” which he said he would need for naps and for sleeping whenever he felt like it.
Shamrock was not given to nuance or subtlety. What he wanted was made known with no mistakes about it. If that cat ran a church, he would be the preacher and the usher who took up the collection. He would direct the choir and he would play the organ. He would be the speaker at civic affairs around town and he would insist on changing the bulletin board out in front of the church. Shamrock was a cat who insisted that his way was not only the right way, but the only way.
Shamrock was kept inside in the house, on the porch and in the garage for two weeks. He clearly wanted to go outside so at the beginning of the third week, he went outside usually accompanied by one of us. He showed no inclination to run away. When he was given outdoor privileges, Judy said his personality blossomed. When Judy went over to our next door neighbor to take garbage cans to the back of the house, Shamrock would go with her or he would meet her when she called.
Shamrock was permitted to have outdoor privileges from about 8AM until 4PM when he would respond to a call to come inside. We were aware that his curiosity would take him up the street for perhaps 200 yards. On the fateful Saturday, September 11th, Shamrock’s travels must have taken him a short block from his house.
We had known for several months, that at least two wild dogs were preying on smaller animals in a park perhaps two or three miles from here. We had no indication that the wild dogs would come to a wooded reserve for the East Orange Water Supply about 300 feet from this house on White Oak Ridge Road.
There are stories that when someone decides to abandon a cat or a dog, it will be taken to one of the parks in Millburn with the owner driving off and leaving the pet. In the case of dogs, it must be supposed that they revert to a primitive state of affairs where killing is routine for the right to eat or for the pure sport of killing. In any case, Millburn has some wild, vicious dogs to deal with.
When Shamrock failed to come home during the morning, Judy started to drive around the neighborhood calling for him. Early in the afternoon, when she drove up Mohawk Road, a short distance from our house, she saw Shamrock’s body on the side of the road. His body showed clearly that he had been attacked by the wild dogs who have apparently moved to within a few feet of this house in the wooded water conservatory. When Monday came, Shamrock’s body was taken to the Summit Dog and Cat Hospital where the Dorney’s would see to it that the body was properly cremated.
The police came around to make a report. Officer Freen was sympathetic and understanding. At one time he had used his shotgun on one of the wild dogs, but it seemed that the dog was not hurt by the shot. In a community such as this one with houses close together, the police are reluctant to shoot, which is quite understandable. What is not understandable are the people who claim to speak out against cruelty to animals. Those wild dogs have forfeited any claim they may have to patient understanding. Shamrock’s death is not the first, by any means. Other animals have also been mutilated by the dogs, so they have no claim whatsoever to humane treatment.
If this were an isolated case, it might be somewhat different. But we know from reports in the newspapers that Shamrock’s death is one of many. Officer Freen told us that they found a 200 pound deer being mutilated by the wild dogs. It was behind the high school. That is when he had the opportunity to take a shot at one of them. Clearly, owners of smaller animals permit their dogs and cats to go outside at their own peril. In effect, the vicious dogs are holding the residents of this town hostage. Our earlier cats lived their indoor-outdoor lives peacefully until old age overtook them. But that was before there were wild dogs.
It seems clear to me that if the dogs have mutilated a large deer and if the dogs have been seen as far from the wooded areas as Millburn High School, there is a significant risk that they may attack a child. If the child is playing or running, it may attract the dog’s attention. If the dogs can mangle a large deer, they would have no problem with a small child. Let us move to have the dogs destroyed before such an awful event should happen.
Well, Shamrock is gone now and he is grievously missed. There are chairs he used for sleeping that have his fur on them. There are balls and toys on the porch and in the basement. Judy has finally put his bowls and dishes away. It is a matter of some significance to note that he only lived here for one month, but his owners miss him terribly.
On the other hand, if Shamrock’s death causes the dogs to be destroyed before a child or other animal is killed, it may be a blessing in disguise. Shamrock’s owners hope so.
Irish laments are by their nature sad offerings. This lament over the death of a fun-loving cat is certainly not an exception to the rule. On the other hand, Irish laments are often found in communion with songs and expressions of defiance against tyrannical rulers. The Irish had 800 years to express their defiance of British imprisonment and hangings.
One of the more famous songs of that defiance is “The Minstrel Boy,” a song about a youngster who carried his harp into a battle that the Irish had no hope of winning. The final verse of this Irish rouser is:

And said “No chain shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were meant for the pure and free;
They shall never sound in slav’ry!”

When Judy and this old essayist think of Shamrock and the difficulties he endured during his one short year of life, we think of the minstrel boy and his bravery. Perhaps Shamrock’s death may start a series of events here that may finally set things aright. Let us hope so.
E. E. CARR
September 16, 2004

SHAMROCK IN POP’S GARDEN
~~~
Well that’s a huge bummer. Poor Shamrock — I didn’t realize his stay with Pop and Judy was so short! I wonder though if there’s a silver lining in there somewhere though; if a pet is going to get taken away from you very early, I’d almost rather that happen after a month than after a year or two years since you’d be so much more attached. Still, that’s a pretty awful way to go.