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Our Miss Kitty died Christmas morning, 2005. She was 18 and had known love all her life, despite being shuffled between several homes. Everyone loved her and treated her accordingly.
We got her 3 years ago from an owner who "just couldn't keep her anymore." We never thought she'd be adopted, but last year a kind soul fell in love with her and took her home. But they, too, reached a point where they could not keep her either. We took her back into the shelter. And then I took her home, to be with me for the rest of her days.
And then I learned, when a life trickles down to the last moments, and the soul knows its time has come, there can be peace at the end – if we let it.
Miss Kitty was one such lucky cat.
We knew she was leaving, as we listened when she made it known, by her walk, her expression, and her peaceful attitude of acceptance. We took our cue from her and prepared for as comfortable and pleasant an exit as possible. We made no last ditch attempts to thwart the Angel of Death, no fast trips to the vet, no punctures with needles to experiment with the various remedies, no stressful atmosphere of anguish. Perhaps she appreciated our acceptance and passed on about as peacefully as anyone can - in her sleep.
I set up a basket in my bedroom, next to the computer desk, with a fluffy towel, and set it on my bed. I talked to her all evening as I worked on the computer, and the other cats dropped by now and then to visit and sniff, occasionally to reach in with a gentle paw-touch, perhaps to offer their good wishes, too.
I offered her some tuna - a favorite dish - and she sniffed it, but lay her head back down and sighed. I later offered some catnip as well, clearly her "drug of choice" over the years, as it always transformed her into the playful kitten she used to be. The last time she had a "hit" of the stuff, 2 months ago, she played so hard, she passed out. She was groggy (drunk?) for hours, but recovered by morning and was her usual, matriarchal self, if not a bit hung over.
But she didn't even lift her head for it this night.
She would take no water, no food, and only sighed and blinked as we petted and soothed her. At her age, what was the point of drastic measures?
I set her basket on the floor when I retired for the night, just in case she needed to get up. In her weakened condition, she would never have been able to avoid a fall. But she remained as I set her, curled up on her towel.
In a few hours, Christmas morning dawned, and I knew before looking that she had not moved and was no longer breathing.
But when I did look, I was astonished! I gasped, then I smiled, then I laughed and cried at the same time.
There, right in front of her in the basket, inches from her face, was a colorful cat toy!
And stalking nearby was PinchTail, our latest acquisition, a 4 month old kitten who can't stand to let anyone lie around. His mission in life has always seemed to be to get everyone to play with him. This morning, he gave Miss Kitty a Christmas gift - a toy to play with!
Apparently, when Miss Kitty did not respond, he simply walked away, but kept returning to peek over the edge of the basket to see if she was ever going to play with it. I took pictures, of course.
Good bye, Miss Kitty. We loved you very much. We know you are playing like a kitten over the Rainbow Bridge now. Pleasant journey, old girl.
