On this chilly morning, I took my coffee out to enjoy it in our hot tub. A thin layer of ice frosted the cover. I flipped it back and climbed in. Last night, my sweet white cat, Kibbie, died in my arms after nearly18 years. She let out a little cry, stretched her head back and then, she was gone. It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure. I laid her on the carpet in the blanket and looked closely at her—was she breathing? I’d watched her for months, sometimes wondering if she was still with me, and her little ribcage always rose and fell, day after day. Now, it was still.
I lay my hand on her side; she was still and cooling quickly. She was finally gone. I wrapped her tight in the blanket, then draped another over her and made a little nest. I closed her eyes as I’d seen them do with people, and her little face looked out from the bedding, looking ever so peaceful. Finally. No more pills, no more needles, no more suffering and struggling to climb in and out of her litter box. Just peace, a warm red cranberry candle and my little space heater blowing warm air as her spirit rose to Heaven. Down on all fours, I looked at her so still there and my tears began. My friend all these years; she fought valiantly to the end, she was my little girl for nearly 18 years and I loved her so very much. Even now, as I sit her in my (her) office, I keep starting to turn around to check on her there on her blanket—and I remember. She’s not there now.
She’s in her special Christmas box right outside my window in the rose garden where she loved to stretch and snooze on summer mornings. A candle burns there in a crystal tumbler, and will continue to burn until Christmas Day.