A Eulogy for My Cat

I think that the last 12 months have been a period of profound loss for many many people. I know many people who lost parents, grandparents, and dear dear friends in the last year. Aside from living in the midst of a global health pandemic, people are also struggling with mental health burdens of working from home and leaving our houses a whole lot less. I think that usually I would be able to point to one thing and be like "yo this was the worst part of my year', but the last 12 months have felt like a piling on, the likes of which I have not felt in about 10 years, maybe ever. I think it has been a widespread and deeply felt year of loss. (I'm serious, has anyone had a good last twelve months? Is anyone actually thriving?)

I think that for the last 6 months I have been feeling down in a way that I haven't felt in a really long time. In the last 12 months: I transitioned to a higher stress position at work, lived through a pandemic, lost a dear dear work mentor, and have been wrestling with imposter syndrome and decreased productivity, probably because I'm not leaving my house. I feel exhausted all the time. And while I started out the pandemic by thinking that I would be productive, it's now a drain just to be. My body, mind and spirit feel a general sense of malaise. To be blunt: the last year or so has been pretty awful.

Today my cat Whiskers had a medical emergency and I had to put her down. I think that I made a scene at the vets, and I cried much more than a grown adult woman should. I think that when I add this to our year of profound loss, it feels trivial compared to our collective loss (parents, grandparents, friends), but I'm still feeling pretty awful. I've tried to get some work done but I can't stop crying. In the terribly sad song I Drive Your Truck, Lee Brice sings "People have got their ways of copin' and I've got mine". I am coping by eulogizing my cat here.

I have been an avid cat lover since infancy. I don't know why I like cats, I just do. And when I was a kid, I always desperately wanted a cat. So Whiskers was my cat.

We adopted Whiskers when I was in 5th grade, about 20 years ago. She was a rescue. We picked her up from an animal sanctuary the next town over. We don't know how old she was when we got her, or where she came from, or how she ended up in Portales, NM. 

We had Whiskers spayed before we brought her home, so she was still woozy from the anesthetic, and she walked like a drunk person for the first few hours. This spurred 20 years of jokes about the cat being drunk (she never was, I promise). We made up stories and legends about her mysterious background--her countenance seemed Russian, yes? Look at how somber she seems, how serious. Look at how she tries to bear wrestle whoever walks passed. Yes, definitely a Russian spy with a weakness for hard liquors.

She was a steadfast friend. I wish that I could tell you how many times I cuddled Whiskers when I was sad because girls in middle school were mean to me, or when I was sad over some boy in high school, or when I stressed over law school or work. She outlived lesser friendships, cars, moves to different houses, I think that maybe I thought she was going to live forever. I had googled "can cats live to 30" and convinced myself that I would never have to say goodbye to her.

I know it sounds crazy to say that my cat was always there for me, the cat was a domesticated and captive critter that I kept in my house. But I think that she could tell when I was distressed. Even toward the end, she would come and sit on my lap, and put a paw on my shoulder, like she knew, and she wanted to help. When I was home sick, she would hang out near me, almost like she was my nurse and she was monitoring my vitals.

We got Whiskers when I was in primary school, and she was equally rough and tumble. We used to wrestle in the living room. She used to sit statue still in a bookshelf and then pounce on whoever had the misfortune of walking by. She had numerous mis-adventures that required rescue. Nothing serious, just like one time she fell behind the washing machine and we had to make a human chain to get her out. Or one time when she somehow got inside of a reclining sofa and just hung out for awhile.

She was smart. So smart. She could figure out how to open packages. I think that you could tell in her eyes that she was clever. I mean, after all, she was a Russian spy. She had pretty eyes that looked like they were freshly lined with black eyeliner. She was a dilute tortoiseshell, which is supposed to be one of the most rare and spunky coat colors for cats.

She liked to hide in closets and boxes and pickup truck beds in garages. She liked rubber bouncy balls that we would get from the quarter machine at CiCi's pizza. She liked cereal milk, but not if you left the spoon in the bowl. She was independent and liked her own me time. She liked to garden, and she liked to lay amongst the toads that lived in the garden. She liked to climb ladders. She liked her peach tree, and she liked to roll in the dirt under it. She was a big sister to Bailey. And she raised him as best she could. We used to joke that in our will, we would have to leave Whiskers as Bailey's guardian. 

Whiskers was never an overly affectionate cat. She wasn't very vocal, and she was independent, but I think she knew that I was her family. And I think she knew that I loved her, and she loved me too.

For the last year and a half or so, Whiskers had been sick. We took her to the vet and they told us that she probably had kidney failure. A google search says that it's common in older cats. I think that for the last year or so, she hasn't been feeling super well. Putting her down hurt, but I knew that she wouldn't want to live a life where she couldn't run and jump and play.

When I have had friends or co-workers who have lost pets, I usually tell them that pets are family, and that all that we can ever really do for another sentient being, is to give them love. I know it sounds like a hallmark card, or some trite platitude, but I don't think that there is anything to regret from a lifetime of love. I don't know what more I could have given her, or she me.

Ok I know that I keep saying that I know I sound ridiculous, but bear with me ok. As a fair weather Catholic, I don't quite believe in an afterlife. I surely do not believe in Dante's circles of salvation and misery. And it's hard for me to conceptualize that an afterlife of any sort exists, like that our consciousness goes on being somewhere else. I think that when I die, I'll just die, and that'll be it. But, right now, while I'm crying and terribly terribly sad in a raw way, I cannnot reconcile that there isn't an afterlife for pets. Where they go and they can run and jump and play again. It's some sort of small comfort to think that my best friend gets to continue on being in some sort of way, in a place where she isn't sick anymore.

Rest easy Whiskers, thanks for being my best friend for 20 years. I love you buddy. And I think that if there is a heaven, and if by some sort of fluke I end up there, we'll get to snuggle again someday. <3