The Cats

I’ve always had cats, from what I can remember. We were the people who took in stray neighbourhood cats, like, the really ugly ones. When I moved away from my home town and started living on my own, I longed for cats to cuddle. Around the time I graduated from college I finally adopted two kitties. They were brothers, one black with short hair (Tom Cat) and the other black, white and fluffy (Emilio). They followed me to all my apartments, met all my boyfriends, and knew all my secrets. They were by my side as I sat under a blanket, depressed and in the dark.

For cats, both of them loved to cuddle and have their bellies rubbed. They never attacked to the point of pain, always playful and loving. Sometimes they would be outside cats and other times I would keep them inside (which they hated). Once I settled into a long term home they became the neighbourhood watch, sticking to a periphery about two blocks wide. Everyone knew who they were, and tolerated them in their yards. They could be found laying in the sun or leaving fun kitty foot prints in the snow. They hated the ice and preferred to cuddle inside with each other on colder, less adventure supporting days.

They were my companions and eventually won the heart of my cat hating husband. “I really don’t like cats,” he said when we first met. That didn’t last long, as he fell deeply in love with them. At one point I wanted to get a dog and he said, “that would stress Emilio out, I don’t think he would like that…,” cat hater indeed. When my son was born the cats were hesitant but eventually warmed up to the small invading human. By the time my daughter was born they settled into it. They taught both my children how to respect animals and boundaries, to be gentle with living things. They were patient and eventually sought the kids out for play time. It was fun to watch, the lessons animals teach children.

Then there came a day, after a long vacation, we arrived home to find Tom was gone. At this time Tom was 14 going on 15 and was adventuring outside a lot more. At the time the neighbourhood was also hosting a gaggle of raccoons and a trio of coyotes. Tom never came back but for a year we hoped he would show his little furry face again. When our son asked where Tom went, all we could say was, “Tom went on a little kitty adventure!” The two year old accepted that as fact and seemed happy for him. For me, it wasn’t that easy. When I’m sad I clean and one day I started gutting the garage. As I removed more things from the space the more open my heart became and the tears wouldn’t stop. One of my life long friends was gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to have one more cuddle. He was lost and potentially met a gruesome death, and I wasn’t there for him. It was devastating to me. Even as I write this, I’m tearing up. I miss my friend.

Another year passed and my family and I decided we wanted to move. The pandemic had taken a toll on me as a mental health provider (and for everyone else) and I needed to find a way to recover. We had an opportunity to move to Iceland and live on my husbands family farm. We had always talked about it but I could never commit. That’s a BIG change! Leaving the comfort of familiarity was terrifying. Eventually after tireless discussions, we decided it was time. We started making arrangements, selling and giving away our things, and started saying our goodbyes to people and places.

And then there was Emilio. Emilio was 16 years old. He was dealing with off and on health issues but still kicking, enjoying outside time and taking long naps. I wasn’t sure if taking him to Iceland was the best choice. Emilio was a stress ball at the best of times, and putting him on a plane didn’t sound like it would end well. As we prepped for the move, I spoke to several friends and some family members about taking him, but wasn’t successful. We started all the paperwork to get him overseas and had several discussions with a Vet about the journey. At one point I asked about putting him down but the Vet was hopeful. We did our best to get Emilio to the healthiest point possible and eventually put him on the plane. He survived the journey and the 2 week quarantine period, which was impressive. When we brought him home to the farm he got a bath and cuddles from everyone.

For about a month and change, Emilio enjoyed farm life. He got to go outside whenever he wanted. Got lots of tuna and milk from the farm cows. He enjoyed treats and sleeping next to me and our son each night, which was his favourite! One day I picked him up and noticed he was getting a little thin. I started checking his food bowl and it was untouched. He would eat some treats here and there, but overall stopped eating. He would drink lots of water, but eventually stopped that too. He stopped going outside and started taking long naps, sleeping soundly. One day he started meowing loudly and would sort of scream when I lifted him up. He started vomiting everything I gave him. That night I put him in a cozy place where he would be comfortable, hoping he would be alive the next day. That next morning he couldn’t stand strait and continued to vomit. He was suffering.

The kids had to go to school that morning, so I told them to give Emilio cuddles and kisses, which they did. They were gentle and he leaned into them as they said goodbye. Thankfully Elvar’s dad had called a Vet for one of the cows, so we asked if she could come and help. There was very loud construction happening all over the house that day. Builders, electricians, painters. There was a lot going on. When the Vet arrived I was sitting down next to Emilio. He was laying next to me on a warm blanket, his breathing shallow from exhaustion. I greeted the Vet through tears and she was kind, saying, “not a problem,” with a warm smile. She examined him and agreed he was done and prepped me for the procedure. I held my companion in my arms at first and then laid him down once he was asleep. He passed quickly and softly.

I didn’t notice at the time but all the sounds from the construction had stopped. No one was in the house. There was just silence, reverence. I just sat with Emilio and rubbed his fur and his toes for the last time, ushering his spirit home. My husband found a little box and filled it with hay. We found a little spot on the property close to where, we think, and old cemetery use to be. Emilio was laid to rest on Halloween morning, we covered his grave with stones and gave him a little headstone. When the kids got home from school we let them know Emilio was gone. We took them out to the grave and had a little ceremony. They had so many questions about where Emilio went, why they couldn’t pet him anymore, if he was okay under the rocks. We had and still have discussions about it. After that, we all decided to have a celebration of life. We made pizza and made several cheers through tears.

The gifts/lessons these small animals gave to me and my family are priceless and will be forever appreciated. From the companionship, to gentle love and play, to providing care to a suffering being, to celebrating life and lamenting death. The respect and care that other humans provided during this time is so incredibly heartwarming, so much that when I think about it my heart explodes. It’s nice to be reminded that human beings have an incredible capacity for compassion, even for something (for some people) so seemingly unremarkable. These kitties are a part of my heart and soul, along with other beings that come and go. I will always cherish my time with them and will forever appreciate the grief and joy loving something brings.

Sleep in peace my friends.

M