When the cat is away

I’m still wretchedly sick and I spent most of the day lying limp like some giant, analgesic dependent squash that reeks of camphorated liniments on my bed. There used to be a time I had a cat curled up at the foot of my bed on lousy days like this. And most other days, too. And nights. Not anymore. Exactly one year ago today my cat died. And of course, I haven’t seen her since. I’ve had peculiar dreams about her every now and then, but that’s about it. Still, every time I see her in my dreams I cherish every moment of it and try to remember as much of it as I possibly can, because I learned so much from her while she was still around, and would have wanted to learn more, if only she hadn’t died.

When she did I didn’t know how life would be, how I’d turn out to be, days, weeks, months, or a year later. I couldn’t imagine any of it. I couldn’t imagine how the never-ending dramathon that is my life would be without her. She had always been a main character. No. To me she was more than that. She was a part of the main character. She was a part of me (of course I’m the main character, it’s my life). It was like imagining how Rapunzel would have turned out if she suddenly suffered from alopecia and lost all of her legendary long hair. It was just unimaginable. For as long as I could remember, from back when I was still very, very young, she was there. And I’m sure she was also there back when I was still too young to even have memories of it now. She was always there wherever I was, moving around my feet, fearlessly exploring the big world around her like she owned it. But time has passed, and it flies fast, whether you’re having fun or not, whether you want it to or not. So much has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same. In the middle of it all, somewhere in the middle of the colorful, swirling circus of confusion that is my life, there’s this big empty void I’ve learned to move around in, a big gaping hole I cannot avoid but always pass by hurriedly just so life goes on without me painfully remembering her death and breaking down. A part of me died with her too. And I didn’t want to remember that.

But as I’ve said, some time has passed, and the pain of losing her isn’t half as bad as it used to be (or the pesky bout of arthritis I’m suffering from right now). I didn’t know it would come so fast, one year later, her first death anniversary. I had not realized it would be as if it was just yesterday. Time allowed me to hurt and feel and wallow in the pain until it didn’t hurt so much anymore, and then turned my head around, kept me from looking back, and taught me to look forward and move on. I’ve learned to just pick up the pieces that fell apart and try to put them back together, as if nothing happened and life is just as it should be. But there are times, times like today, when I can’t help but remember her and how life was back when she was still part of it. I miss the days when I had royalty depending on me for her dinner. I miss the days when I would chase after her wherever she would decide to go next, like a humble chamber maid to her queen. I miss the days when I shared my room with an animal that thought she was sharing her room with me. I miss the days when there was undisturbed peace in the kitchen even when all the lights have been turned out. Apparently, the neighborhood rats have learned of her passing and have took it upon themselves to raid our kitchen. Indeed, when the cat is away, the mice will play. And my, do they play loud, knocking bottles off tables and running around kettles and pots and pans.

When you share your life with an animal you see the world’s secrets unfold before your eyes, and you learn many lessons no other human can possibly teach you, because there are some things in this universe only animals know, things they know by nature and things they learn from nature. It’s a wonderful gift, having the chance to share your home and your life with an animal. You learn so many things, understand so many things even the greatest of teachers and sages cannot even hope to teach you. Simply because she was there and was herself she opened up my mind to many things, may things people who have not had an animal at home will unfortunately never come to realize.

Some people will wonder why other people who live with animals seem to be so attached to them. The friendship a person builds with an animal is something that’s entirely different from one that the same person has with another human being. With an animal a person can be truly himself, stripped naked of all the facades and manners and cultures of politeness and social graces we humans have learned to dress ourselves up with. With an animal you can be truly honest and set aside the many pretensions you assume when with other people. You don’t need to smile at a dog you meet down the street, or curtsy at the neighbor’s cat when she happens to pass by your backyard, or turn your head away from a dog you see pooping in the park, or pretend to your cat that everything’s fine even when you’re miserably sick. Even when animals see you at your very worst, they understand, they do not judge, they accept. They take you just as you are, and they have no ill thoughts stirring in their animal minds even when they see you as you truly are.

With animals there is no need for words, words that often mislead, confuse and deceive, words that are often misunderstood and misused, words that are empty and meaningless. Animals do not tell you. They show you. And in that experience you are there to see, hear and feel everything, learning as you see them do, as they show you, whatever it is they do. There is so much to learn from them. If you let them, they open up your mind and widen your horizons, and you begin to see things differently.

In that small animal’s body was a soul not different from mine, or anyone else’s for that matter. It still pains me that I wasn’t there to say goodbye and send her off on her journey to the other side. But I know my old cat is at peace wherever she is right now. Unlike me.