My sole faithful companion of 14 years died in my arms this morning at 6:24am.

Ordinarily I wouldn't be this broken up. Sad at the passing of a constant friend, yes, but really not this... disoriented. She was only a cat. She had a pretty good life, all things considered. A pretty long life - 68 to 76 cat years. About normal, I guess, for a cat.

The thing is, she might have lived longer - or at least died easier- if I hadn't been so self-absorbed and just plain stupid. Her final gift to me, you see, was a lesson on how to be a better human. To understand what I mean, you need to know how she died and what led up to it.

In the beginning...
Her name was Kat Meowser, but usually just "Kat." Sometimes it was "Damned Kat," but she was sweet, loyal to the end, trusting. Which is more than I can say for myself, and it's tearing me up. I'm having a wake for her in my store, today, because I don't know what else to do with her. I can't bear to put her in the dumpster. I don't have any land to bury her in - except somewhere far from her "home." That doesn't seem right. She was a house cat.

I got Kat from a friend in Denver. Her (my friend's) boyfriend didn't want a cat in the house and was going to simply throw her out into the street, so she brought her to me. Kat had her front paws de-clawed and there was simply no way she would survive on the street. I didn't want a pet, but I took her in anyway, and it changed my life for the better. Kat filled a gaping, lonely hole in my life I never even knew existed until it was exposed, once again, with her passing.

I raised her first at my house in University Hills (Denver). She loved it there. She had the run of the house and a huge back yard to stalk insects and critters. Flowers and bushes to play in and hide in. She used to bring me worms for some strange reason. She never killed them, but she liked to to watch them wriggle about when she tapped them with her paws. I guess she thought I would enjoy it to. Cats are weird that way.

We moved to Georgetown, CO. after about three years. I found out then just how much she disliked riding in cars. Never heard such a large growl from such a tiny creature. The only time I heard a more pitiful moan out of her was this morning. Even when she was attacked by some unknown animal (U-Hills) and had a gaping hole in her side, her cries weren't as much pitiful as painful and trusting that I would take care of her. I thought she was going to die back then, but she was strong and not willing to give up the ghost that easily. Eventually she recovered, but she never liked going outside by herself again. She loved it when I took her out, but would dash back inside if she couldn't see me.

The Georgetown house was a HUGE three story Victorian affair (four stories, counting a basement that led to a small, fenced back yard) that Kat absolutely adored. So much room to run around in - and carpeted stairs to fly up and down. Lush green grass in the back yard, with more flowers and bushes and trees. Best of all, it had a small, elevated wooden deck off the kitchen where she could lay in the sun and dash in the house whenever she got spooked. Nothing bad happened to either of us there. It was peaceful and fun and spacious and very nice.

We stayed at the Georgetown house for just under a year, when the landlord got divorced and needed it back. That's when we moved up to Dillon, CO., to a tiny 1-bedroom condo with a loft. There's a communal "yard" outside the door, but nothing Kat ever considered "safe." Good thing, too, with all the hawks and coyotes. She rarely strayed more than 5-10 feet from the door, though she liked to 'scratch' on the rough concrete walkway, or sit in the sun either inside or just outside the entryway.

She didn't much care for the steel spiral staircase leading up to the loft. Especially after a couple of hair-raising missteps. Eventually she got pretty good at navigating the steel trap (the bed is in the loft), though every now and then, in the middle of the night, there'd come a horrendous yowl and frightful banging and scratching of (hind) claws finding no purchase. Scared the bejaysus (yes - it is a word, look it up) out of both of us.

Over the last couple of years I noticed her eyesight was getting worse. Her eyes were clear, they just didn't see very well. Being half-blind myself, I could relate to that, so I put an extra litter box upstairs for her and brought up a fresh bowl of water (she didn't like milk, much) for her to drink if she got thirsty at night. That way, she wouldn't have to try and navigate the stairs in the dark.

I've had my store, now, for seven years. She had the run of the condo, as I was working 10-14 hours a day, every day. I left the TV on for her. I don't know if she watched or if it eased her loneliness at all. I just took it for granted that cats, being the independent beings they are, didn't mind much being alone. I hope I was right. I couldn't bring her to the store - too many people coming in and out, some with their dogs. She wasn't much for meeting strangers and didn't even like other cats, much less dogs. We made do. I would give her her morning treat before leaving - a habit started the first week she was with me - and when I had dinner, she would get her evening treat. She always greeted me at the door when I got home. I'm going to miss that.

At night we would sit together and watch a movie. Sometimes we'd play with her toys. She had mouses and catnip and balls and a dangly contraption that had a variety of things hanging from four arms. She liked strings the most. I'd tie two or three long boot strings together and cast the end out across the room, then twitch it like I was jigging for fish. She'd stalk it, pounce on the end or wrap herself up in it - then dash away under some piece of furniture, waiting for the next cast. It was fun for both of us. But mostly we'd sit together on my ratty lounge chair. I'd soothe her with scratches and strokes, she'd soothe me with a purr that did more than the finest pharmaceuticals.

When it was time for bed, she'd keep me company and I'd do the same for her. I have a habit of reading in bed to wind down from the day. She liked to sit on my chest or stomach and purr like a tiger while cleaning herself. Then she might notice I wasn't paying enough attention to her and slink around in front of my book or, often times, plop herself down right on top of it.

This is how we lived. Nothing very exciting, but we both seemed to like it that way. It was comfortable and comforting. Then, about six months ago, she started throwing up more than the occasional hairball. I thought it might be the food, so I tried several different kinds to see what she liked best and threw up least. It never crossed my mind that her vomiting was at all unusual. Most times I thought it was just because of the way she would wolf down her food - more like a dog than a cat, sometimes. After all, she was still eating and still drinking the same amount she usually did.

The Beginning of the End . . .
About four months ago she started refusing to use her litter box, except occasionally. I am an idiot. I was so self-absorbed and worried about my store and the economy and the political frenzy that I never put two and two together. I don't know how I can forgive myself. I got mad at her, like she was doing it on purpose. Like she was mad at me or something for leaving her alone so much. Maybe I was mad at myself for leaving her alone and taking it out on her. I know I was frustrated.

I set up the downstairs bedroom as a "Kat" room. I lined the floor with plastic trash bags and kept her shut up in there during the day. At first, I would let her out at night to be with me, but she started peeing on the floor - sometimes right in front of me! I would go ballistic and yell at her and throw her into "her" room (yes, I'm ashamed to admit that a couple of times I actually picked her up and threw her into the room). What an asshole. I just didn't get it. It didn't sink in that she wasn't trying to "get" me, but she was trying to tell me there was something wrong - and I didn't listen.

It gets worse.

For the last six weeks or so, I kept my poor, dying little friend shut up in that damned room. When she called out to me, I thought she just wanted out. I yelled at her to "shut the hell up!" I was so frigging stuck on my own wants and worries and desires that I never heard the pain and sorrow and helplessness in her voice. She was calling out for help because she loved me and trusted me - and I told her to shut the hell up. Oh, God, what an asshole I was. I left my best and most faithful and true friend in that room all alone, in the dark, each night, because she wouldn't (couldn't) act the way that **I** wanted her to. I even pounded on the wall from the next room when she cried out, just to get her to shut up and "quit bugging me."

Well she's not making any noise now, except in my heart, and in my mind. It's too late for me to be the friend to her that she was to me, and it's all because of my own selfishness. My own blind stupidity. I should have known better. I thought I knew her, so when she started "acting bad" it was HER fault, not mine. But it WAS my fault. I killed my Kat in a most terrible, lonely way and now I have no way to make it up to her. I should have listened to her cries. I should have KNOWN that she wasn't being like that out of spite.

I hadn't given her but one "treat" since I started keeping her shut up in that room. I thought, at first, that if I rubbed her nose in her mess, she might "get with the program" and start using her boxes again. I did this for about a week, then gave up. Always thinking about myself first, and how much I hated that she wasn't using her box. Usually, I would pick her up and pet her for awhile until she was calm and purring, so that she knew I loved her. Then I would put her face in it - just a little - and let her go. It didn't work because she WASN'T DOING IT ON PURPOSE. I didn't get it. I refused to get it. I stopped rubbing her nose in it, but I also stopped giving her the comfort and love that I should have been giving her all along. Not to mention a trip to the vet.

I don't have any extra money. It is a struggle to pay the bills each month, yet I still manage to do so. I wouldn't have wanted to spend the fees for a vet visit, but it never really even occurred to me to do so, because I am a self-absorbed asshole. What I forgot to consider was the comfort and love Kat gave to me when all else in my life was going wrong. Unconditional love has no price. It is priceless, and so I apparently considered it to be valueless. I would give more to have her here on my lap purring away my fears of the future right now than anything. Instead, I have nothing. Except maybe an extra helping of guilt and, no doubt, self-pity. Just by sitting in my lap, Kat managed to keep me on an even keel when all my life threw me were ill winds and stormy seas. How could I be so stupid?

Three days ago I went to clean up after her and refill her water and food bowls before going to work. She didn't get up from her loveseat/bed and bound down to stick her nose in the food dish as I poured in her food - which was kind of cute, but had always seemed to annoy me. She didn't even lift her head - not even when I called to her. Ah, yes, that was when the sinking feeling of dread began to set in.

For the first time, Kat was able to penetrate my shield of anger and selfishness, not with her cries, but with her silence. And now, though the anger was replaced with fear, my selfishness really began to kick in. What would I do without her? How would I deal with the guilt, regret and remorse that I now began to feel in full force? How could I ever forgive myself for what I now began to realize I had done to her? What I was doing hit me with a crushing blow. I was feeling sorry for myself because I was killing my little Kat, and I knew - even though she wasn't quite there yet, that I had already done so.

I went to pick her up and her eyes opened and looked into mine. Her little head weakly raised up to look me in the face. I hope she saw the love and concern she should have been receiving all along, and not the darker, selfish feelings I was having for myself. She could barely mewl and I thought maybe she could use a drink of water. I picked her up and was horrified to realize she had peed herself. She was so weak she could not even get up to pee on the floor, much less in her box, but had done what she must where she lay.

I carried her to her water bowl and set her gently down in front of it. She made a valiant effort to keep standing and, after a drunken wobble, focused on her water dish and was able to steady herself. She drank and drank and drank some more, finally collapsing in an upright pose, forehead to the floor, completely exhausted by the effort. I tried to give her a "treat" breakfast of canned cat food (the usual treat) and she managed to lick up about a tablespoon of stuff and could take no more. I wrapped her in a blanket and went to get something to wash her fur.

I came back with some warm water with shampoo dissolved in it. As I began to bathe her listless body she let me know she appreciated it. Though I could barely hear her above my own calamitous thoughts, she'd begun to purr with what had to have been a herculean effort. It didn't last long, just a quick "thanks" before she was too tired for more, her little belly heaving with the effort of simply breathing. I began to cry. I hadn't done that in awhile. I don't remember the last time I cried. I cried and sniffled like a baby. I grabbed her hair brush and straightened out her fur until it was dry, then wrapped her in her blanket and brought her to her room.

In my heart I knew I was too late to make things better for Kat. In my soul, I knew I had to try and simply make her as comfortable as possible. In my mind, I was as selfish (and now, scared) as ever. I had to fight my own selfishness and concentrate on Kat. But I still had to work. I had to open my store. I had to go to work, though I thought that I should stay with her. I had to leave.

I put a foam pad on the floor, moved her water and food bowls close (just in case) and placed her within reach of them upon the foam pad. I told her that I loved her, that I was so sorry about the way I had treated her, that she was a good kitten and that I would see her that night. I went to work. I thought she would be dead by the time I returned. I might have even hoped she would be dead before I returned, so that I wouldn't have to suffer through it as well. What an asshole. I wanted her to get well, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

I stopped at the grocery store and futilely purchased a kitten feeding bottle and some kitten formula. I was dreaming, but I was thinking maybe I could nurse her back to health. Work was dismal. I was plagued by the thought that my little buddy was dying alone without me and might already be dead. I was conflicted. The day didn't go well and, just in case my little miracle was possible, I closed early and went straight home.

This is the end . . .my only friend, The End . . .
Kat had gotten up. She was collapsed on the floor about a foot from her pad, between the pad and her fresh litter box. I thought she was dead for sure. Halfway between Kat and her litter box was a puddle of pee. I like to think that she had made an effort to use her box, rather than pee in her bed, and just couldn't make it, nor make it all the way back. Then I noticed she was still breathing, very shallowly. She was unresponsive. I couldn't get a sound out of her and her eyes barely moved enough to register me. I knew it wouldn't be long before she was gone. The kitty formula was useless, but maybe I could make use of the bottle.

I picked her up and carried her out of that damned room. I sat in the lounge chair and placed her in my lap like we always did before. I stroked her and told her I loved her, that I wasn't going to leave her. I know she didn't understand the words, but I tried to make the tone of my voice as soothing and comforting and filled with love as I could. Occasionally my voice would crack or I would have to pause to blow my nose. I hated myself for my weakness in her dying moments. Not for myself, but for her. I needed to be there for her. I needed her to know that I was there for her. I kept it up all night. I don't even know if she heard me. She was pretty far gone.

I gently rubbed her ears, at the base, which I knew used to send her into waves of ecstatic purring. I massaged her pitifully thin, yet stiffening neck muscles until I began to feel them relax. I stroked from the tip of her nose up to her head, just between the ears, ending with a gentle scratching at the top, and repeat - another favorite. I stroked her cheek with the back of my knuckles, the ultimate thrill for her, once upon a time. I did everything I could remember that she used to love, and kept it up all night.

I had filled the kitten bottle with filtered water when we first sat down. She didn't want any water, but seemed to appreciate it when I squeezed just a few drops into her mouth. I could see her swallowing the first few drops, but then she just let the rest drip through and out the other side. Every fifteen minutes or so I could get her to take a few more drops, so every fifteen minutes or so I would try again. She wasn't drinking to live, just keeping her throat from getting too dry.

She couldn't really purr anymore - just the faintest first second or so before fading away. Just breathing was becoming obviously difficult. Her eyes would occasionally move, ever so slightly, like she was coming out of a dream and trying to focus on my voice. When she was healthy and she was feeling pleased in my lap, she used to reach out her front paws to lay them in my hand. At times, this last night, she made the greatest effort to do so again. I held her paws in mine and WILLED her to know how much I cared. I hope she felt it. I really couldn't tell any longer.

Around 2:30 am, I began to cramp up and decided to take us up the stairs to the bed. She was so limp and so damned light in my arms that it brought tears to my eyes again. Kat seemed to perk up - at least it seemed like her eyes grew a little brighter, a little clearer, as we ascended the creaky steel trap of the staircase. She knew that sound, knew what it meant - that we were going upstairs, to (her) bed, one more time.

I don't know why, but she really loved that bed. Same one I've had since just before I got her. She used to paw the bed for what seemed forever, purring away like a machine, until she got it just right, and plopped down in her place for the night. There she would stay and God help me the looks she would give me if I messed up her space!

I placed her next to me on the bed, in such a way that she would be able to see my face without moving. Now and then she began to give out a little moan, but I continued stroking and talking to her. Occasionally she would have a little spastic twitch and I could see (feel?) her register pain. She was so far gone. About 4:30 or 5:00 a.m. I turned out the light and dozed off, my hand holding her front paws loosely.

I was awakened by the most pitiful and clear moan, together with a rather strong twitch at 6:20 a.m. That moan was nearly human in tone, tenor and sheer expression. I woke up, clumsily turned the light back on, and turned back to my little best friend. She was panting and looking directly into my eyes. Her time had come. I stroked her cheek and again told her how much I loved her, what a beautiful and good girl she was, and that it was alright - that she would be alright - and not to be scared. I told her that she was going to the good place with all the food she loved and the sweetest water to drink whenever she liked. I told her she would meet many good friends there and that, before long, I'd be there with her.

I gave her some more drops of water and she actually swallowed, but this was the end - and we both knew it. I babbled and stroked her cheek and cried and babbled some more. Finally, with four frighteningly strong kicks, bared teeth (not in anger, but in pain or panic or realization of the end - or maybe just the reflex of a dying heart), arching back and dry gasping howls . . .

My Kat was gone, and I was lost.

A New Beginning?
I've written all of this down so that you can see the enormity of the lesson Kat taught me. She gave me so much, her whole life with me, but in the end she gave me the greatest gift and taught me the most profound lesson of all. She didn't give me "forgiveness," because she didn't feel there was anything *to* forgive. She loved me. That's all, and whatever wrongs I did her, she always loved me. Unconditional love.

There is a platitude we have all heard - "Love means never having to say 'I'm Sorry'" Well, I don't really buy that. When you do something wrong to someone who loves you, of course you apologize. But her display of truly unconditional love throughout her life with me explains the depth of that simplistic saying. "Love means, whether you say you are sorry or not, whether you act rightly or not, you will always be loved by those who love you unconditionally." You can't make them not love you. Apologizing is the right action, when you hurt someone who loves you, but better yet is to love them back in the same manner that they love you. If you hurt someone you love, you SHOULD apologize and make amends - but for them, it simply isn't necessary.

I get it now - and so much more. Like, when we get mad at someone we KNOW loves us, especially someone who loves us unconditionally, be they man or beast - or God - then we should first examine our own selves, our own actions, our own thoughts and feelings and emotions. . . and we must remember before all else that THIS IS ONE WHO LOVES US, NO MATTER WHAT WE DO.

My Kat has given me the gift of a love of God, a love FOR God, that I never really had or understood before. I've always believed in God and have given Him due RESPECT without really understanding anything more than He was bigger and more powerful than me. That He may or may not care for me, but if He did, then He had the power and I was like a rambunctious kitten to Him. I personalized him not as GOD, but as a stronger, more powerful version of myself. Now I realize, through the unconditional love of my Kat, that I have things just as turned around as that platitude, above. GOD is the kitten. GOD is the one with absolute unconditional love for me, no matter how badly I mess things up, how vehemently I curse him, how many times I turn my back on Him and shut Him away in a dark place - He has no need to forgive me, He accepts me for what I am and will love me in spite of myself.

I get it now, and I owe it all to my Kat. For that, I will always love her. She is my guardian angel. She led me down the hidden path, the path I would not have chosen myself, and laid down her life to show me the way of things. Whenever I doubt God or God's love for me, all I have to do is think of Kat and the way she loved me when I would not love her in the same way.

Now whether YOU believe in God or not is up to you. I'm not an evangelist - I'm just trying to to tell it as I see it. As I learned it, and now, as I know it. I still shun the religions of man, I'm still baffled by the insistence of a literal reading of the Bible and as far as Jesus is concerned, the church AND the secular have me so confused I don't know what to believe. But I believe in a GOD of unconditional love - and all that entails - and I intend to at least try to reciprocate that form of love from this day forward.

Thank you, Kat, wherever you are. Tomorrow I will be taking her body to be cremated because burial just isn't an option up here. I will keep her ashes with me always as a reminder of that newfound unconditional Love, which should, properly, always be capitalized when it means the Love I have received. I hope some day that I will be reunited in spirit with Kat so that I may explain to her how much she has done for me. I believe a Loving God will make it so.

MEG.

 Kat, at the "Wake"

With Her 3 Favorite Toys

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