Fannie, the eighteen-year-old feline companion to my Uncles Greg and Joe, passed away last week, and we share with them the sense of deep loss that often accompanies the death of a cherished pet. After all, these little beasties warm our beds and our hearts, and we come to love them as we love any member of the family, with all their quirks and eccentricities.
Just over three years ago, Chad and I lost our dear friend, Luna the Cat. Luna, like Fannie, was exceptional. She was well traveled, and radiated personality. She had a special fondness for yogurt, showers, and, more traditionally, loved to lay in the grass and climb trees. She was an excellent hunter, and once frightened me with a gift of a star nosed mole (I was sure it was a mutant). She did not like my singing, and was known to lash out physically and vocally when subjected to it.
The night of her death, I dreamed that I was eating lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Manhattan with Chad. I spotted her crossing the street and watched her enter a large hotel. Alarmed that she was outdoors in the city, I chased after her and tried to catch her and bring her back to safety. I followed her through corridors, on elevators, and through the streets of the West Village, but she always managed to stay just out of my reach. Tired and frustrated, my dream ended with me walking sadly defeated away from her, having finally realized that she didn't want to be caught.
I woke up feeling deeply unnerved in the small, unfurnished room I was sharing with Chad who I was visiting while he completed an artist's residency in Montana. I had dropped Luna off at "camp" at my parents house two days earlier. I was unable to fall back to sleep after that dream, and so I was awake to receive the tearful 4 a.m. phone call from my mother telling me that Luna had been found sleeping on the kitchen floor that morning, but could not be roused. She had passed away.
We miss Luna tremendously still, despite the less than recent addition of two very amazing man-cats, who are special in their own rights. She was special to us in the way that animals tend to become for childless families, and our bond with her surpassed what is typically understood by "non cat" people. This was true for Fannie and her humans, as well.
Today I was woken early by a gentle knocking at my door. Our upstairs neighbor couldn't resist sharing a discovery made this morning while watering the garden; a stray mama nursing her two babies in the shade of an arborvitae. She brought them water and Chad brought out some food later this morning, which mama cautiously accepted. The bond that connects us to the animal kingdom endures on and on.
