Farewell to a feline friend
By MICHELLE FERRIER
CHASING RAINBOWS
Last update: December 20, 2005
Even after 18 years, I underestimate how much she is a part of my life, my family's life. Each week, as I type my columns for the newspaper, Kitty is under my feet and on most days her beautiful grey-and-white, tiger-striped fur manages to avoid the rollers on my office chair.
Kitty ingratiates herself into my most intimate spaces. At night, she can be found under my bed, her soft snoring lulling me to sleep. In the mornings, she perches outside the shower, daring me to drip water from my feet on her as I try to find a place on the bath mat. She sits at my feet, faithful even with the business at hand.
She came to us accidentally, finding her way as a small kitten onto the deck of our city townhouse. As professed dog lovers, we took her in only long enough to find her a home elsewhere. A committee of three came up with the creative name of Kitty, Ms. Kitty for her more formal papers. The name stuck, and so didKitty -- for 18 years.
It's been a week since Kitty passed away late at night, as my husband and I talked about how much she had been resting lately. I picked her up to feel her skin and body for any bumps, signs of pain. She tolerated my probings, wriggled herself away just a few feet, then lay down again behind a chair. We heard a bump. Kitty had tried to rise, fell against our bedroom doorway, and lay there.
I was petting her and softly calling her name as she took her last breaths. I realized the pounding I felt wasn't her heartbeat, but my own heart now in my hands. I lifted them to see that the soft rise and fall of her fur had stopped. Then, the tears began to fall in earnest, wetting her fur as I realized Kitty was gone.
I cried most of the night, as I lined a plastic storage bin with soft fake fur from our Christmas village display and some scraps of fabric from the children as her final resting place. I wanted the kids to see her nestled lovingly among fabrics that had been important in their lives. My body heaved for hours as I tried to think about our family life without Kitty.
Kitty had been to the vet a couple of times this past year, giving us quite a scare each time. I had taken those opportunities to talk to my kids about a time when Kitty would be gone. We discussed burial versus cremation and other funeral plans. Even though it was difficult at the time, I explained that it was important to talk about these things instead of trying to make decisions in the midst of our grief later on.
I was so grateful, as I lay in bed that night, for those conversations. I think it eased a little of the shock and mystery of the events of this past week and allowed each of us to say goodbye without having to think about what would happen next.
My son talked to Kitty the next day, stroking her still form, sharing his grief.
"Kitty, you taught me about love, and death, and about not taking people and those around you for granted," he said through his tears. "You gave me such a gift. You are continuing to teach me, even now."
Every day, we are reminded of the spaces that Kitty filled with unconditional love -- constantly, faithfully, unwaveringly. Now, they are big gaping holes that we pray time will heal. Goodbye, goodbye, my sister, my confidante, my friend.
michelle.ferrier@news-jrnl.com
