When I was 11, my Dad got wrongfully fired, and we had a lawsuit and won. Thus, to make us kids feel better, he and my Mom got us a pet cat. Like any good parents would do.
Veronica
Veronica had similar gray colors as Sophie. White edges. And she was pure tigress. Although she came from the gas station, and only cost 5 bucks, she acted like she was the Queen of England. She just had this charisma.
We would play up in my bedroom for hours. Her claws were sharp but she didn’t really let them rip, so to speak.
When nighttime came, I would be down in the basement sleeping where it was cool in the summer. I would have my Archie Andrews and Stephen King books. And when I was done reading, Veronica would sleep in between my legs, underneath the covers.
Often she would then climb up on my chest and bite my chin and just hold on with all her might. I could smell the wonderful odor of cat food as she breathed in and out through a purring mouth.
Years later, Veronica would succumb to the evil cat disease known as renal failure as well.
I’ll never forget the day, down in that basement … when the two of us looked at each other. The longest of gazes. She knew and I knew that she knew I knew.
Soon, we brought her to the vet. My mom couldn’t be in the room when the poison was administered. My Dad was by my side, though. I held Veronica and acted like, as much as I could, that everything was fine. I nodded to the vet.
Coming back to today
So underneath Sophie going away, there is this little boy in me who remembers his first cat, Veronica. And this boy inside of me is grieving. Because he sees Veronica in Sophie – in this new cat. To him this isn’t just another cat. This is his best friend.
On the other hand, there is me, the adult. He is actually kind of fine with all of this. There’s not a lot of tears. I’m cool. I’m in control.
Kind of?
And yet I say kind of because underneath it all I can feel the anxiety and my blood pressure has been going up lately. A lot. The house has gotten messier. My wife and I have put the kids on the television. This is because our minds are racing in hyper alert mode, and we need to slow things down.
We’re all going through the death together. She’s in the closet, our dear Sophie, dying. And because she’s a family member, we can feel her energy underneath everything.
Right? A cat. It’s amazing that a cat can do this.
Hm. And isn’t it interesting to think that we have multiple selves?
With this knowledge, I can say to the boy in me: “What do you need from me?”
What do I need?
I close my eyes.
I’m up on the bed with Veronica playing like we first did on that first day after my dad was fired.
Meanwhile.
There are all these death experts on how to face the end of our lives. You see them at Hospice usually. I wish I had them around me during these tough times. They often know just what to say, how to console us through the death process. It’s like it’s in their veins. They’re born with it. You also see it in dancers.
With this said, there must be something more I can do. For Sophie in her last moments on this earth.
We could at least chant, I thought. But then I thought again. She wouldn’t like it if we chanted. She doesn’t like human words. She likes “meows”. I suppose we could “meow” chant.
Hm. We could at least play some “bird chirping playlists”. Like on Spotify.
Bird playlists are probably the same to cats as us listening to Beethoven.
She would be like, from her nest in the closet, saying shit. What is that sound?
(There would be all this whistling.)
Someone is playing a bird playlist on Spotify. Those stupid idiots. Don’t they know I’m dying in here?
Or maybe she wouldn’t be that smart. Maybe the playlist idea would work.
There are birds in the bedroom apparently, she would say to herself. Isn’t that nice.
But now I’m so lethargic all of a sudden, I can’t move my legs to go and get them. This is torture.
Or, maybe the birds would give her wonderful dreams.
I don’t know. We don’t know what she is going to think.
Maybe we will do a funeral, I thought, perhaps, where we all say something about how much we loved Sophie.
Denial and Anger
I took the kids out to the hot tub and we played with the dolls.
But in the back of my mind I was thinking of Sophie the entire time. How she was in our closet, all alone. Should I be in there, consoling her?
“How long does she have?” I remember asking the vet.
“Days to weeks.”
“That’s all?”
And I suddenly got so angry. Our medical system sucks. Really? We can’t figure out how to fix failing kidneys in cats? We’re experimenting on cats all the time for makeup and nail polish remover. It’s not like we’re against experimenting on them.
“Why can’t they fix this? What are we in the barbaric ages?” I said to my wife.
I realized on many levels we are. Genomics is new. We as a people just performed our first kidney transplant from a pig to a brain-dead person.
It’s 2021 though! If we can’t fix a simple cat, how are we supposed to fix a human? And if a cat dies this easily, then what happens when one of us gets something?
Days to weeks.
Shouldn’t the government be like, fueling shitloads of money into ending these ancient diseases? What are they doing?
I went over to the kitchen. Opened the microwave.
Maybe this will be your calling, I thought to myself, making a cup of tea.
His cat died is what did it. Before this he was just a normal human.
It took his cat dying to see that he had a greater mission to perform for humanity. And that was to make sure that all cats get kidney transplants.
I stirred the tea.
It took his cat dying to know what he had to do.
It took his cat dying to …
That’s when my daughter interrupted my train of thought.
“Will you come play dolls with me Dad?”
I looked down at her. Do I save humanity or go with the kid?
I just stared at her, before I said it.
“Sure. Let’s go. Who do I get?”
“You get Anna.”
I took a deep breath. Dolls. We were going to go play dolls for the next 4 hours.
All Our Family Members
We all know this on some level, when we get a pet, that we’re signing a contract. One day the party and beauty of having a pet will end and we’ll be faced with letting them out of this world.
But it’s so quick! Is it even worth it? It really makes you think about living in the present moment because they’re not around forever. These patterns.
“You get Anna,” she repeated. “I get Elsa.”
We went into the bunk bed room. And grabbed the dolls.
I had to really take this in. This moment. This picture. This movie.
Because suddenly, out of nowhere, it’s over. It will be. This is a one-time event. You don’t get to do dolls, ever again.
And so it’s important that we are here, that we show up.
To experience being around this person. And that cat.
When she’s gone I’m going to be so upset. I can’t imagine her gone.
Our dear Sophie. I will want to see her one last time. And I won’t be able to.
I stare at Sandy and the beauty of her hair and her curls like she’s this creature before me.
It’s so funny that dolls rocks her world. This is what she does. Playing with Daddy and playing with dolls is what it’s all about.
How did I get so lucky?
Four hours later, I am done playing. She’s not. But we put the dolls away. She’s happy.
I think about saying to Sandy, “We are going to go to the closet. And we’re going to say goodbye to Sophie while we still can.”
But then I stop and rethink it. She’s not thinking about Sophie. It’s only me.
And so we don’t need to even talk about this until she’s ready. And she may never be. She’s thinking about Anna and Elsa.
I want to meet my little girl where she’s at.
Come back next Saturday for Part 3.