In a bitter piece of irony, the Tuesday that I posted my last entry with a light-hearted introduction to my two cats, the smaller one, Miss Thing, began to show signs of being seriously ill. On Wednesday I was concerned enough to make urgent arrangements to get her to the vet to be seen that day. Thursday morning the vet called me with the very unwelcome news that blood tests showed that she had kidney failure. She had stopped drinking water as her body shut down. Mark and I watched with pain as she tried to rally in response to our caresses, but she was increasingly anxious and exhausted. Friday we very sadly took her back to the vet for a final time and held her while her suddenly frail little body was put to sleep.
In many Eastern philosophies, we humans are advised to teach ourselves to be truly alive in the present moment. Miss Thing was the best example of this spirit that I’ve ever encountered. She radiated a sense of contentment and bright engagement with life that never looked forward or back. If I stepped on her tail as she meandered underfoot, she was incapable of holding a grudge. She seemed to have already achieved the enlightenment necessary for true uncomplicated happiness.
One of her most endearing qualities was her desire to be in the middle of any activity in the house. If there was laundry being folded, or a bed being made, she would leap to the center of the action with an irrepressible playfulness that was impossible to resist even when it was most inconvenient. When my husband worked at home he learned to type with a cat wandering back and forth over his keyboard, reminding him to take breaks to pay attention to the kitty! Often when he and I were locked in an intense or serious discussion, she would walk into our midst with a raised tail, as if to say no problem could be so serious while we had a cat like her around. She was an extraordinary sock hunter, and over the years retrieved uncounted socks from dirty laundry baskets. Each time she would announce her prize with loud meows that brought us to stop whatever we were doing and properly show our gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Thing," we would chorus as she proudly sat in front of us with her tribute.
So now I once again say thank you, Miss Thing. Thank you for the gift of your presence during the past ten years. We had hoped to keep you with us for longer, but truly is it written that none of us knows how long we will have with one another. In your next life I have no doubt you will come back again as someone’s beloved cat, which my friend Jack maintains is the peak of all earthly incarnations. For you, may there always be balls to chase and string to pounce on. May there be wide windows looking onto green gardens and many birds to watch. And may the lucky souls who live with you understand as we did, what a treasure they have in you.
