Lessons Learned From The Black Kitty

Since we got her kitten self from the Oakland pound in 1996, The Black Kitty has graced us with her presence.   She entered our family's life before Clarke and I got married.  She lived with us in the homes we made together, and put up with our teenaged kids and their friends.  She even put up with us getting a dog . . . whom The Black Kitty eventually agreed to meet each morning for a mutual butt-and-face sniff, on her way into the bathroom, where she drank her water out of the bath tub or shower each day.

Here she is at one-year-old, looking ebony-sleek . . . and disapproving . . .  when The Grey Kitty came to join the crew in 1997.  

The lanky, brace-filled-mouth 15-year-old boy?  That would be son Adam . . . who grew up to become this man who got married in June.

And The Black Kitty grew up to become this fat and happy old broad, who loved all of us (even The Grey Kitty) and who really, really, really loved food.

Right up until Saturday morning, when she slowly, slowly roused herself just enough to turn her back to the food we tried to hand-feed her.  And began crying the mournful cries usually only reserved for car rides (which always inspired fear).  

And so, we knew.

The older I get, the more I realize that an enormous lesson we learn from our animals is about the life process.   We meet these critters when they are babies . . . and before our eyes, and much faster than humans, they grow into old beings.  With luck, we get to witness their whole life spans.  And that helps us appreciate our own, and the time we are given.  

In the winter, The Black Kitty -- who already had all kinds of arthritis -- was diagnosed with a terminal cancer tumor the vet said gave her a few more months to live.  The Black Kitty spent those next several months happily pain-medicated, following us around, purring more often than ever before, seemingly enjoying her gradual transition to the next stage.

The past few weeks got slower and rougher.  Until Saturday morning, when she signaled in her Black Kitty style that she was done.

Riding in the car to the vet with her on my lap . . . still, calm . . . it was me with the resistance.  Mostly, a general human need to reject pain:  "I will never get another animal.  I cannot stand doing this.  I can't stand going through this.  I can't stand losing this cat."  

And do you know what happened then?  

Up through my hands as I was petting her, I felt The Black Kitty say clear as a bell, "Don't be silly.  Love and companionship still rule, even though they are punctuated by such difficult things as loss, missing, saying good-bye.  Those things don't make love not worth it.  It's not love's fault that there are also sad and hard parts.  It doesn't mean love has failed, love isn't worth it, love is letting anyone down or doing anything wrong."

As you can see, The Black Kitty was a very smart cat.

And at the vet, when I got to hold her and pet her as the sedative made the way easier, I felt her talking again.  So, so clearly.  "We all die.  Calm down.  Just sigh a deep sigh.  We are not failing in dying.  We are not going anywhere that everyone else isn't going, too.  We are not letting anyone down.  We are not doing anything wrong.  When it is time, it is just right to let go."

And so, we let go.

And it was really hard.  But it was just right.  And I love you, Black Kitty, and I thank you for everything you shared with all of us, every day.  And especially for the honor to be with you and learn from you right up to the very end.  You were a rocking good cat.  I hope you are eating everything in sight right now, and getting to drink from all the showers you want.