A week after my precious little Lamsey died, I look around this same home she borrowed and miss her so much. The floor is eerily clean, void of all the cat litter I had to sweep up for 10 and a half months while she was my closest companion. Prior to my going to get her, I had lost my cat of 17 years, Nashy, who was my everything. I even wrote a book about her, “A Feline Grace.” But Jubilee, who I nicknamed Lamsey for her curious and very special little meow, would not have been jealous to know she followed someone so wonderful. She was not the jealous type, an odd thing to say about a cat, as they are known for being jealous. She must have been in so much pain. She saw a total of 5 different vets, who all gave different diagnosis, all warning that she should soon be put down. They did little for her. And no one but me discovered that she was completely deaf, which turned out to be a blessing when the irritating dog on the deck next door started barking. Her teeth were the worst any vet had ever seen. Her heart beat extremely fast. Her breathing was heavy. Her walk was increasingly labored, so that she had to sit down in the middle of her short trip to the bathroom, where she liked me to keep a little dish of water which she visited quite frequently. Humorous cat that she was, the other dishes of water I had all around my small apartment would usually be ignored, as if there was somehow something different about them.
Fortunately I took several videos of her. In one of my favorites, I played with her, using toys which had been sent as Christmas presents from my oldest niece Gabby. Lamsey’s reflexes were extremely quick, I recalled as I watched the video. Perhaps most extraordinary, she was very happy. In another video I pet her as her sweet little paws hugged my arm. Those videos are worth millions of dollars to me now, as they are the place where I will be able to keep her forever, just like the memories of my Nashy, not only in videos, but in the book I wrote in her honor.
Lamsey, I now recall, was very animated, and so loving, and never complained about her ailments. You would have to be a cat person to know what I mean about cats complaining. They have a way of looking at you and telling you what they think you should do, and letting you know it is your fault when they are unhappy. And because they hold your heart strings, they know they control you, and you will do as they ask, because you are their human slave.
Lamsey never treated me like I owed her anything. When she did make a request, not only was I thrilled that she was asking me for something, she would only ask once. Often I had the video camera out, trying to get that beautiful little meow in repetition. There were a couple mornings when she did wake me up with her “ow. ow. ow. ow.” sound, the only creature on earth who could get away with saying anything at all to me at 6 in the morning. But her pattern was to have no pattern. She only did this a couple times. And then there were the times she meowed “ow. ow. ow. ow.” from the other room, and I knew I had to drop everything to go and comfort her or give her treats, or whatever it was she wanted.
She often picked out a spot to sleep and returned to that same spot religiously for a week or 2 and would then pick out another spot. This was very un-cat-like, and of course, yet one more amusing thing about her. Everything about this cat was so unusual that I will very likely not find it in a cat again, and therefore feel at great loss with her gone. She was the first cat that actually licked my face. She curled her little arms up like a bunny when she laid down to rest, and even died in that same position.
She used to crawl up to the top of the bed where I frequently lay with my laptop perched on my knees as I type, as I am now, and rested her paws on my chest, even getting in the way of my work until I adjusted her. I recall she had the most content look on her face.
But it is this which brings me comfort, as I look at the videos where I explain things to whoever may be watching later; she came here to spend the last days of her life with me. At first I didn’t know how long that would be. Hoping for a year, and no more, I had 10 ½ months with her. I knew she was happy here with me. I knew she loved me, and appreciated me. The hardest part for me now is the fact that I enjoyed so much being needed by her. I knew that she could see something very special in me which needed to be seen. And in this way God showed me that He could see this in me as well, the caring, loving, person I am rarely granted the opportunity to be.
Like God, a special cat like Lamsey knew my rising up and my lying down, and was acquainted with all my ways. She became a part of me. Her sparkling little eyes, with the one eye somehow damaged, looked at me, knowing me, knowing I wanted to serve her and it was my greatest desire in the moments I was with her to get close to her, to pet her unusually soft toes, to carress her head, and give her treats on demand. It is not only Lamsey who I miss, it is me, and as a result, I am on the look out for my next super special kitty cat. But I refuse, though it may be selfish, to accept any cat who is less special than these extraordinary little angels God has given to be with me, to grow my heart, and hopefully, prayerfully, be with me somehow, in some form, forever in eternity. Such creatures must have originated from God’s thoughtful imagination.
A God so good must somehow also have a plan for their continuance. If every tear is to be wiped away in heaven, does that not also mean I will be reunited with those creatures on earth whom I have loved most?