Safe in the flower bed that had been created just for her, she napped. Dosing on and off was now her day. She had been more lively about a year ago, but napping was all she could handle these days. She reserved her movement for mealtimes and whenever her mistress would come and sit with her. Her world was that back yard. Always had been since she arrived back in 2006. Her owner who lived next door was a young man who had brought her from Brookhaven, MS. He let her be outside like she wanted and she adopted what was to become my yard long before I arrived. Being an outdoor cat was all she knew. Just a black, long haired girl with soulful yellow eyes which didn’t see as well as they once did she sat patiently while I admired her. Bluebird was testing her on the corner of the shed. She looked deeply through him and followed as he made flight to another backyard. Being a smaller cat and a female she knew her limitations. This is one of the ways we bonded. On occasion a gentleman would sit with me in the back yard. If she liked him she’d come up to him and take some pets. This was only if it suited her or maybe she was bored. I always think it’s because she could tell he was a good one and that made me feel even better about him. I’ve always felt like animals and children will tell you what you need to know about someone if you pay attention. Quiet and dainty. She was the kind of cat that let you get to know her as long as she could keep her wildness and you understood. When we first met it was 2013 right after I had moved here. She appeared on the porch, stuck her head through the iron wrought banister and spoke to me as I watered plants. “Good morning to you.” I said. I started drinking my afternoon coffee there and she’d join me for company and to watch the tourists who oohed and aahed over her as she mewed back, stretched her legs and sunned herself. She was quite a little ham when I think about it now. This memory of her always makes me laugh. She looked back at me as to say, “they must not have cats in Cleveland.” Making fun of tourists became our routine and that’s how we became friends. I think it’s fair to say I fell in love with her pretty quickly. The cats who have spent time with me have just shown up. My relationships with cats have been akin to falling in love. If you wait long enough the right cat will find you. Her voice was feminine and she talked back when I’d ask her about her day and did she see a lizard and so forth. However, our friendship was sealed when I brought home a rotisserie chicken one afternoon. I opened the door off the kitchen and she banged the screen with her claws until I opened up for her. Once I started feeding her house food she was mine. Our codependent relationship was happy and balanced. I let her be who she wanted to be and didn’t try to influence her to become a house cat or my emotional support. I hate when people make their animals their therapist. Summer’s and winter’s can be hard here in the Lower Garden. She was a woolly girl with thick fur which looked completely black, but if you saw it in certain light you’d notice amber highlights. I would encourage her to come in more and she’d try sometimes, eat the treats I made special for her and enjoy a back rub on her silky frame. Then! Instantly! And for no particular reason, she’d quickly make her way to the door off the kitchen and meow. It was either the stalking hour or maybe another realm calling her. I’d imagine that she’d step outside, unzip a small section of the atmosphere and disappear into a cat never land complete with endless cat treats, butterflies to chase and catnip bushes for her to rest beneath. I loved making her comfortable and I know I spoiled her a little. I had so much admiration and respect for this little cat who had survived the mean streets of New Orleans, rogue creatures who came into the yard and other cats who were bigger. She did this by simply staying put on her on turf. She never came out onto the sidewalk or crossed the street. She knew innately what she could handle and what was beyond her. I saw her once leap from the front porch, eyes ablaze with fury and fangs bared because a possum was in her yard. She chased him into the gardenia bush and gave him his marching orders howling and yowling as he fled. My son saw it all and was mightily impressed with her ferocity and determination. He had a better look than I did and said that the possum was twice her size. So that was the way it went for years. Mornings in the back patio became our norm complete with me sitting near her while she ate her breakfast and I sipping my tea. We’d chat back and forth about the weather and I’d stroke her with a wire tipped brush as she gently pushed her head into my calves. It was like I’ve always known her and I can only ponder on what she thought of me. I think it was positive and she seemed genuine and loving. What a rare and special gift she was giving me. I never took it for granted. Any love you receive on this earth is worth pausing for and animals can be some of the most generous if you remain open to them. It’s hard to think of her now and not tear up. We met in her later years and this year should would have turned eighteen. Her last week was traumatic to say the least. She hadn’t been eating much and I tired all types of foods to coax her, but she wasn’t able to get much down. I knew things were changing for her and ultimately for me. I was losing my friend. Then on a Thursday morning she came straight into the door when I opened it to offer her breakfast. She ran past me and up the stairs. That was not a good sign. I followed her and she placed herself onto the small couch in the living room. For the next three days I attempted to feed her and ask her what I could do to help. She wasn’t eating or drinking and I was getting worried. I read that sometimes when a cat won’t eat offering baby food proteins like lamb and chicken may help until a cat gets back on her feed. She was too weak to stand and I began feeding her by spoon and giving her drops of water in an old medicine dropper. She responded well and would finish most of a jar of the food. Once she had a little food in her she would stand and attempt to jump off the couch, but would tumble onto her side. Then she would wander around the room and stare into a corner for what seemed a long time. The following Thursday I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere in the house and that evening around dinnertime I heard a small thud behind a curio in the dining room. She was coming out of her spot and wasn’t herself. I picked her up and laid her onto a soft chair. She kept trying to stand, but she wasn’t able. Finally I said “you can’t get up angel and there’s no where to go if you could.” With that she fell into my hands and surrendered. I put her onto the couch so that she could lay flat and comfortably while I waited for the inevitable. I watched her tail mostly because she was silent and her eyes were closed. Her tail often had been my cue on her mood at any given time. It was thick and muscular and was always moving. Hour by hour it slowed down to almost nothing. Around midnight as I sat and stroked her, kissed her and told her all was well and she was safe her tail stopped moving. It simply felt like a feather in my hand and all that life it once had vanished into the ether along with her sweet spirit. She was gone. I scooped her up and held her close to my chest one more time. I had never expected to feel so much love for her. I really hope she knew she was loved and cherished for being the sweet and giving soul that is so rare in this world. Each morning I look at the little wooden box on my dining room mantle. I’m reminded that while it holds her ashes she’s really not there. While it is a small comfort to view what is left of her on a daily basis there’s a gaping hole in my heart and I miss her more and more. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of something out of the side of my eye and for a moment I think of her tail swishing past me. Wishful thinking, but it comforts me for a moment. I have memories and her brush and a little tuft of her fur in a satin bag that was given to me by the kind people her handled her after she passed. A homeless guy that I help sometimes told me when I said that my cat had died “I know where I could find you a kitten.” I laughed and told him “I’m not ready to love anything yet.” Maybe the right cat will find me again some sweet day.
Have a Jilly day!
