Better Days

It wasn't the kind of day you'd want to live more than once.

The prospect of losing two cats, maybe even three, was devastating. I had closed my eyes to their age and ill health, praying for some kind of miracle that would restore them and me. Not only was there no miracle, there was now the distinct possibility that I might lose a third. My thoughts were clouded with fear and dread and it was difficult to concentrate on insurance claims. As always, I couldn't imagine where I would find the resolve and courage to do what was best for them and let them go.

My love of cats seems to have been with me always but the truth is I was into my 20's before I learned to love them. I was suspicious of such independent minded creatures, so distant and strong willed, so indifferent to affection. I wasn't willing to work for their approval when dogs were so readily available, devoted by nature and always anxious for attention and praise. Clearly, a cat was a challenge I didn't need or especially want. Now, having loved and lived with them for over 40 years, I can't imagine what I was thinking and what I missed. Black, tiger, calico, tabby - each has been unique, each has been a gift. Some have been timid and reclusive, some have been extroverted and pushy, some have been loving and some have been standoffish, but each has been one of a kind and utterly irreplaceable. Each was a joy, a trial, a treasure and a heartbreak. The pain of losing them never heals but it becomes almost bearable knowing that their suffering is ended.

Meanwhile, the third cat is home, looking all the world as if he'd lost a fight with a threshing machine, but intact and on the mend. He sleeps beside me, curled up tightly and purring fitfully, dreaming perhaps of better days and healing. Just as I do.