There is no easy way to say your final goodbye to a beloved friend.

However, it is a hell of a lot easier when you have a magician, a bagpiper and a mime.

Today, about 30 people gathered at Winnipeg’s Crescent Drive Park to say goodbye to Fuel Montagu the Metallicat, the beloved life companion of my best friend Josh. We felt Fuel’s love shining down on us in the form of a clear and hot summer day. Also, in the giant posters of him by the altar.

We opened the service with my speech. Josh is not only my best friend, but my longtime former roommate. He acquired Fuel shortly after we moved into our first apartment when we were 18 years old. So it felt right to be able to pay my respects. (My full remarks are copied at the bottom of the post.)

So now, we gather here today to begin a new journey, one in which Fuel lives in our memory, and we can take comfort in the legacy he’s left. As the great poet James Hetfield once said, “oooh, on I burn, Fuel is pumping engines, burning hard, loose and clean.” Now, we can find peace in the belief that Fuel is pumping engines, loose and clean somewhere in the heavens.

After a short group sharing session, where we were collectively called to honour Fuel’s wonderful abundance of derp, Josh delivered his deeply personal #fuelogy.

That’s when the mime made his first appearance.

Then, after a few moments of contemplative silence, the bagpiper began leading our march to the river to release Fuel’s ashes. I do not know why these videos are so blurry. I may have gotten sunscreen on my iPhone lens.

Unfortunately, the spot on the river we aimed to release Fuel’s ashes was already occupied by some bros drinking beer, who were not expecting to be suddenly interrupted by a bagpiper and a crowd of people.

It’s okay: the bros ended up coming back to the memorial site with us to watch the magic show afterwards. But first, we had to release Fuel’s ashes into the wild.

Wait, not that urn…

Not that one either, I guess. Third time’s the charm?

Goodbye, dear friend Fuel. I am pleased that some small piece of you will remain with us, until Josh throws his shirt in the wash.

With that, we marched back to the main memorial site, and enjoyed a fabulous magic show from The Great Gregoire. Book him for your next birthday party or corporate event!

Thus ended the #fuelogy, the greatest funeral cat has ever known. Journey well, old friend. Journey well.

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Addendum #1: Full Text of My Eulogy

Good afternoon.

A few months ago, Josh asked me if I would speak here, today, as we remember our friend Fuel. We didn’t know then that the day we laid him to rest would be so beautiful, the sun so gracious, the air so gentle to our spirits. When I look around today, I do not see Fuel. But I feel him in the breeze.

When Josh asked me, I immediately knew that it was important for me to speak. I was Fuel’s first step-mother, the first female role model in his life. But our story is not only one of familial affections. It is also a story of transgression, and forgiveness. I come here today to bear witness.

As some of you may know, I was 19 years old when Fuel tried to take my life. The moment in which it happened is seared into my mind. Josh and I were living in our first apartment, at the time, and I was spending an evening quietly reading a book in our living-room chair. Suddenly, I felt a sharp sting across my throat. I wheeled around, and saw our young kitten crouched behind the chair. He had leaped up from behind, and attacked me in stealth.

Time heals all wounds, and it healed mine too, although not before I’d entertained several confused questions from coworkers about how I obtained the three-inch cut across my neck. But the scars it left on my relationship with Fuel took longer to heal. For the first time, when we sat alone together in our house, I was afraid.

It is a testament to Fuel’s true potential, maturation and grace that we were able to put this behind us. One day, while Josh was at work, he came to me and announced he wished to make amends. He entered a treatment program for compulsive claw offenders, and as anyone who saw his two-hour special episode of A&E’s hit television series Intervention can attest, this treatment was a success. Soon, we learned to live, love and laugh again.

So Fuel and I had our challenges. But the strength of our connection was forged of stronger stuff. He was not necessarily the kitten I wanted, when Josh first plucked him from a indiscriminate mass of writhing fluff inside a cardboard box, but he was the one I loved. I loved him for his curiosity, and his insatiable desire to know.

Fuel spent his later years working as a private detective. What some of you may not know is that his aptitude for this work showed very early in his life. He was about six months old when he opened one of his earliest investigations, into the nature of fire. Unfortunately, this case proved dangerous. He grew too close to his subject, a candle in our living-room window, and suddenly there was a quick sizzle and the smell of burning hair. He fled down the hallway, leaving small puffs of smoke behind him, just like in cartoons.

But adulthood brought a greater sense of calm to Fuel, which was a blessing for Josh’s sleep patterns. The last time I saw him, he was lounging lazily in Josh’s spare bedroom, purring deeply while I scratched his face. We sat there for some time, contemplating the nature of the connections we make in life. Though I never saw my old friend again, I am grateful we were able to end our journey together that way.

So now, we gather here today to begin a new journey, one in which Fuel lives in our memory, and we can take comfort in the legacy he’s left. As the great poet James Hetfield once said, “oooh, on I burn, Fuel is pumping engines, burning hard, loose and clean.” Now, we can find peace in the belief that Fuel is pumping engines, loose and clean somewhere in the heavens.

Above all else, I am grateful to him for being a loving and loyal companion to Josh, and a source of comfort to him when my fendship could not be enough. Fuel was a magnificent old friend, and I know that I will miss him, very much.