by Kim
Tribute to a Wise and Playful Soul
Written August 1998
A year and five months ago, my cat, Nicki was diagnosed with Fibrous Sarcoma. Over the last year and a half, weve been through six surgeries, a lot of medication, and even more tears. Sadly, its finally caught up to us, and the cancer has spread through Nickis 10-pound, tortoise shell-colored body. Shes developed a new tumor just above her left front leg, which appears to be growing in size each day and has caused her to develop a limp. The pain of watching the cancer spread through her body is excruciating, but not as painful as knowing that theres nothing I can do to help her. Nothing to do but sit back and watch this disease take her away from me.
Nicki has been a constant in my life for eight years. She follows me through every room of the house, waits patiently in front of the tub while I shower, sleeps with me each night, sprawls on my stomach to watch television, and is, at this moment, sitting on my lap with her head resting on the edge of the keyboard as I type. Through all of my problems, broken relationships, jobs, and moves, Nicki has been with me through it all. The reassuring rumble of her purring against my ear and the steadiness of her green eyes when she gazes at me has anchored me and brought me back from some pretty terrible places.
This morning, I broke down. It wasnt the type of crying that Ive experienced in the past, but the kind that leaves your entire body sore and seems like it may never stop. In the middle of the jag, I kneeled in front of Nicki where she was laying in her favorite spot on the bed. Placing my head against the bed, I clasped on to her fur, holding on for my life, and sobbed. Through my tears, I could see that she was staring at me quite thoughtfully, blinking her large, owl-like eyes in confusion. Shed never seen me carry on like this. After some time of watching and sniffing my hand, she apparently came to an assessment and a course of action.
You kinder, gentler animal lovers would probably guess that she curled up next me, rubbing and purring to comfort me. Or perhaps youre anticipating that she licked my tears away. And while that would be a satisfying, endearing conclusion to my story, thats not what happened.
That cat bit me!
I was shocked at first. I stopped crying, looked at her, and said, "Now why did you go and do that?"
But that was just the beginning. She grabbed hold of my hand with her pointy little teeth and started gnawing. Then, putting her furry little feet against my arm, started to kick me; the whole time with her back arched, fur standing on end, and this wild, devil-may-care look in her eye; if you have a cat, you KNOW that look.
Through accusing, tear-stained eyes, I said to her, "What about all the belly rubs and table food Ive given you? What about all the thunder storms Ive protected you from? Have you forgotten the time when I jumped in front of that truck to save your furry little butt from being run over? Or the time I didnt yell at you for beating the crap out of that snotty Persian cat next door? You forgot about that, didnt you? Im going through some kind of breakdown and this is what I get? What is this some act of tough love?"
But my indignant outrage just seemed to spur her on. In time, I found myself laughing as I batted back at her paws and curled my hand, mimicking a claw, to dive-bomb her belly with a playful attack. And some where in the middle of it all, I saw her reaction for what it was: Nicki wanted me to play with her. It was if she were saying to me: "Yeah, I know both of us havent been feeling so hot lately, but lets just say to hell with it and play!"
She had a point, so I took her advice. We played despite the fact that rolling around must of made her leg hurt and that she tired easily these days. We played despite the fact that my nose was running and what I knew of the world was crashing around me. We played despite the fact that the time I had left with this precious creature was running out.
Despite all of it, we played.