I have been home, recovering from surgery, for two months. While recuperating, I realized that life has continued and my lack of participation has not stopped the march of time. I missed the end of the summer season. The farm stands that offered corn, watermelon and cantaloupes now are full of pumpkins and squash.  The lush green canopy of trees have become swirling red, yellow and orange leaves, providing a colorful carpet upon the ground. There have even been changes in my personal life. Prior to returning to work I decided it was time for a new hair style. I am now revisiting my short and curly look. There is one more obvious change in my life; for the first time in over thirty five years, I have no cat underfoot.

I don’t plan on making this a memorial to Scout, but I do want to share a bit about her. When I purchased my home eighteen years ago, she turned up in my yard. Whenever I was outside she would be there, bouncing and jumping around. For being such a tiny kitten she was spending her time with the big cats as part of a feral colony. I was not looking for another cat as I already had two residing with me. I reconsidered when thinking about the age of one, who was nineteen at the time. I thought for sure I would lose her sometime in the near future and rescuing Scout would allow me to return to life with two cats again. My elderly cat lived to see twenty two. For several years I was the crazy cat lady with three cats.  

Scout spent years unapologetically continuing to show her feral roots. She was often referred to as the invisible cat as she would make herself scarce if I had visitors. During her life with me she shared space with a total of three other different cats and she was left when it was time for each of them to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years of her life, she was my “one and only” and she easily adapted to life without competition for food and affection. She finally came out of her shell and acknowledged that she was comfortable with receiving attention from my guests. In the past two months, as I recuperated, she had been my constant companion. I noticed her weight loss but attributed it to the fact that she had reached the age of eighteen and time was taking its toll.

I think that there is something to human psychology and spending time together that has you overlook gradual changes. Those who have not seen someone for a period of time can readily pick up on them. Scout continued to lose weight and her appetite increased. I didn’t initially notice as she maintained her normal routine. She would wake me each morning and would talk to me as she led me into the kitchen. She was affectionate as ever and I would pet her, listen to her purr but I could feel her bones under her skin. Her coat remained shiny and silky. A vet visit confirmed that her organs were well but she had developed a mass. I knew that a tough decision lay ahead of me. I resented the fact that I had to return to work. If I remained home I could monitor her and not feel like I was cutting her life short.

I finally came to the conclusion that I was denying the true state of her health and wasn’t doing her any favors by not taking the responsible steps. I continued to vacillate until the final moments. Once she was gone I realized that I had a sense of relief. She loved me unconditionally and trusted me. For years she knew she would be fed and the litter box would be clean. She knew she would be safe, warm and loved. This was the final step in our relationship. The change I dreaded has happened and I go on. There is positive side, I realize that the loss of Scout allows me to offer a safe haven to another homeless cat in the future. I also recognize there is a greater lesson. Sometimes the changes we dread the most, propel us to a new environment filled with opportunity and unexpected rewards and goodness. The loss of a loved one creates a figurative void in our hearts. I have come to understand that grief can expand your heart to a point that it feels like it will burst. It feels as if it has been stretched, creating an even larger void.  When the time is right, there is a possibility that we can be blessed by something else that will fill that void. It won’t be the same, nor should it. As we continue to live and breathe, our hearts are still beating and capable of love. It’s up to us to be open to it.