I booked my flight twelve hours or so ago. At four in the morning. Prices were exorbitant at the last minute, even for economy class. Luckily I stored up on some airline miles and managed to redeem for a return flight for good value in business class with Swiss. The extra comfort will be appreciated since this will be an exhausting and I imagine emotionally laden journey of five days.
Brother and I spoke briefly again yesterday afternoon, and he texted me at 3am (my time) saying he's spoken to the vet and asking me my opinion on the matter of Kitty's arrangements. It was such a bizarre and difficult message to read. We must decide her life. Who are we to decide that...? Because we don't want to see this poor little cat suffer? Or because we can't bear to suffer ourselves seeing her suffer? These are questions I have wrestled with before, especially when mum was dying. It puts you face to face with death and life. You humbles you and make you realise again how terribly fragile all life is. Again, death is bringing is together. Death unites people, make them realise what little time we have in the world and how we often squander it by saying "later, later, later" or refuse to resolve matters and chose to live in regret and fear.
Despite brother's initial protests earlier in the afternoon yesterday, I think he soon came to understand and realise why this trip is so important for me. I made it clear that she is also my cat. All I had to say was "She spent all those years with me too..." and brother's initials protests subsided. We lost our dad, we lost our mum. He knows how it is to lose someone, even if it is just a cat. He knows best, for as a friend said, our family has experienced it's share of loses all these years.
That's the reason why he's asked my opinion on how to proceed... Whether do let Kitty go at the clinic or at home... And what to do with her remains, to cremate or to bury somewhere.
I cannot imagine how that will be. Not so much the procedure, because whatever procedure you follow, it will be mechanical, painless, most likely by a needle. It's the significance behind it all. It's knowing you are directly responsible for taking a life, even though it is done mercifully and cat-anely. I cannot imagine how I can look at her in the eyes knowing what I am to do to her. She can feel it, can she not? She's a cat, a most sentient and sensitive creature. She knows she is dying... She knows her body is giving up and in great discomfort, does she not? She must be so scared, so very scared... Can my hand offer her comfort in those moments before her consciousness drifts and dissipates? Can my soft voice calling her name remind her that she is surrounded by loved ones and that she has nothing to worry about?
When brother told me about Kitty's condition all I could think of was how before when I was upset or down, she would come see me in my bedroom. She would just air around and look at me cry, as if offering me support... And now, I am heading back to offer her support. It is the least I could do. Imagine how this must all feel for brother, who had her for almost nine years... Imagine how difficult it must be for him, for the cat would sit on his lap every night after work. And all those years he was single, the cat was his companion and a reminder that he is not alone. For my sister-in-law it is not easy either, for its been three years that Kitty has been in her life. And Kitty is a cat everyone adores and remembers after meeting her the first time. As I was packing frantically to leave, I suddenly thought of mum's best friends, for they have met Kitty, and they often ask about how the cat is. For several moments, my mind wondered if I should tell them or not. But why bring sad news...?
On this flight back to Europe, I am reminded of key events.... I remember a month or so after I got her from a friend, she was on heat and one day when we weren't paying attention she ran out. For a month I kept searching for her. For a month, every week I would bike a long, long time to the animal shelter to see if she's there.
How happy I was that a week or so before my birthday in 2005, I found her at the shelter. She recognised me immediately. She miauwed and smelled my hand. The search, and the deep gnawing sense of loss, the fear of something terrible happening this sweet little creature, was over.
But now it's different. She's been with us over eight years. Though five or so of those years I have been absent (since I moved to Canada...) Kitty still occupies a deep part of my heart. And rushing back to see her, to bid farewell, feels so sadly familiar... To get a call suddenly and then frantically book a ticket. It happened with dad. It happened with Carmen, a dear friend who looked out for me those teenage years my parents were absent. And it happened with mum... Now it is happening with Kitty.
I cannot describe how these feelings are. The urge to see someone (or some-cat), the fear that by the time you get there it might be too late, the thought of someone you love and care so much about languishing and suffering and not being able to do anything about it.
The tears have stopped. I am just numb now. I feel this is the stoic part me coming into play, the one that faces death and loss head on and tries to normalise, rationalise everything till one day, post the event, I realise what it all meant, what I have really lost and begin to break down and cry.
Kitty, hang on there. I am coming home...
