It's Monday Morning and the Cat Died

Well, Hello! Did you find me here? Welcome!

Welcome to the collective gathering spot of mostly what will be the pool of overflow from my life. The constant and bubbling brook that is the stream of my thoughts, my love, my travels, my philosophies, my photographs, my experiences and time.

Since I have only one pair of the two little pairs of fish feet, that are the epicenter of this blog, mostly it is my voice that will be represented. My little fish is in the 2nd grade, and thereby mostly occupied during the day. But, for all intents and purposes, this will be our life together, as I see it, as I planted it, and as we grow it.

I had wanted to kick this thing off with something chipper, and bubbly. I imagined talking about how my life for the last 31 years, although tumultuous, has been nothing short of beautiful, and even poetic at times. I imagined talking about the love I have for my little fish. How sometimes, I love her so much I feel like my heart may burst. I lay awake some nights simply in awe of the gift, that has been mothering this little person. I could have talked about my travels. And how small the world still seems to me. Or, something existential, such as how even the smallest of choices, have in time, forever altered the course of my life.

But, not today. It’s Monday morning, and my cat died. The Cashmere Cat, as I called her, whom I rescued from the terrible fate of being drowned in a barn, in the Fall of 1997. Born in the back-wood countryside of Hartford Connecticut, this little black and white tuxedo cat has seen, smelled, and tasted nothing short of a good cat life. She had lived wonderfully, in 4 states, and 2 countries. She  loved being outside, and for the life of me I could not bring  myself to lock her within the confine of my home, and often let her roam in our garden, or stretch out in the sun on our balcony in Rome. She was a survivor, and a sweetheart. She saw me through some of the most passionate, and challenging times of my life. And, she always, always, always, slept next to me, tucked neatly within the folds of my own body, serving herself as a sort of cashmere little pillow. She often purred in her sleep, and the warmth of her little, purring body, often comforted me. It was a tragic finding, of what seemed to be a peaceful death. And I just pray, that in my absence, she transitioned peacefully, to whatever awaits her on the other side.

I knew something was wrong yesterday when I came home from a weekend away, and she did not come to me, as always. Her food was untouched, and I could not find her. During the night, in what turned out to be a premonition, I dreamt that she had died, and can still see the dream-like image of her little black and white body burned into my mind. This morning, that image materialized into real-life. And, the hardest part is knowing what to do with her, in all of my grief. My only reprieve is that she seems to have died suddenly, and without pain. And while it remains a mystery to me, at least I know that she did not suffer. I will miss her deeply, in the days to come.

How strange this morning was. How strange this month was, this year, this life. It is the perfect marker in the path of the strange, that I seem to be winding down these days. I’ve witnessed great loss this year, and terrible grief in those around me. I’ve lost my Co-Worker, and almost my best friend, in sudden, and massive brain aneurysms. I have witnessed another colleague lay his young wife to rest, after a losing battle with brain cancer. There are places in this world, just wrenched with suffering. Some far away, like in Haiti, where they are struggling to regain equilibrium from an earthquake that almost destroyed them completely. And others, just around the corner from my home and my heart. And while I understand that suffering is what brings us to be human, I also, like most humans, struggle to understand where it fits into the larger equation of our time here on this earth.  But one thing I know for sure: we absolutely do not get to choose when it is our time to go. Life can end for us at any single moment, of any single day. And for this reason, and for many others, we must live our lives so that when Death comes to us in that way, like a thief in the night, that he will have nothing left to take from us, for we have truly lived.

This is the story of the stretching and challenging of my heart, soul, family and mind. It is finite, for the story ends for all of us eventually. But, for me, not today. So, while I still can, I write it all down.

Rest in Peace, Simone. Thank you for sharing my life for 13 wonderful years.