In 1998 we were given a black cat with a patch of white on her neck named Akasha. The story goes that she was the runt of a large litter (13 perhaps) born on Halloween. She belonged to friends of ours and due to their living situation they had to give away one of their cats. As the other two were litter mates, she was chosen to go to a new home. She was a tiny furball who hid for days behind the washing machine only coming out to eat and use the bathroom. Nathan finally coaxed her out and she and our cocker spaniel Bailey soon became best friends.
She was a terrible cat. She was. I won't lie. She was aggressive to guests and only used the litter box part of the time. Our furniture became her scratching post no matter what tactics we used to curb her habit. She would tease our guests and convince them she was a loving animal, rubbing against them and purring. When they reached down to pet her she would strike. Don't think we didn't warn them. We did. Repeatedly. But, most of our visitors through the years were convinced they were different and that she really meant it with them. Oh, she meant it all right. She meant it when she drew blood! And, in protest of bringing home a new "kitten" - our newborn son Noah - she ran away for a couple of weeks in what has been the coldest winter we've had in years. It took her about 5 years before she allowed him to come near her.
Regardless of the issues, she was quite loving toward Nathan and I and became quite the "lap cat" with both of us, nestling down each night in bed between us. We had a good 15 years with her. And, despite the issues, they were good years. She eventually warmed up to Noah, who like his father is an animal whisperer, and once we had Arwyn she began to rotate between all three beds at night, always able to find a warm body who welcomed her demands for love.
Two nights before leaving for the beach she told me something was wrong. She did. I voiced it to Nathan but then attributed it to my normal anxiety attack that I have before leaving home for a week. We drove down to our condo on Saturday and spent all of Sunday basking in the sun. It was Sunday afternoon when the call came. My sister found Akasha lying in our den, unable to move and much worse. She crated her and rushed her to the emergency vet who called us quickly to let us know that our beloved cat had a "neurological episode" to which there was most likely no recovery. I knew immediately when the call came that a difficult decision, made even more difficult by our distance, must be made. But, make it we did. We let the children know that their beloved companion was ill but waited until sunset on the beach, when we all four gathered, to break the final news.
It is hard to fathom. A full day of sun on a glorious beach. A difficult decision. A yummy dinner. Then tears on the beach and for the rest of the night. Each day this week I have shared our joys and our triumphs for the world to see. But today, our share our grief as well.
Peace to you in this first week of fall.
