by Kimberly Vahl
Sierra was my baby, and my friend. I moved to the city in September 1998, and I quickly found myself missing my close friends, my family, and the man who would become my husband July 2000. Humans are social creatures, and with no outlet they get lonely... and a little stir crazy. In despiration I started visiting the humane society for a little fur comfort. I didn't expect to fall in love.
That day I just played with one of the older cats for fun. I told the kennel helper that I would be looking for a far more affectionate cat before I would adopt. "I think I have the cat for you." Sierra was a beautiful dilute calico, with the softest fur (even as she aged) and a high-pitched squeak for meow. She was so sweet and gentle, and I determined that I wanted her. I told them to put her on hold, and I would get the opinion of my gentleman friend before finalizing the adoption. A few short days later, we brought her home to my apartment.
She very quickly attached herself to me, as her mother, and I became attached to her, as my furry child and best companion of some of those lonely days. She would sleep beside me in my arms on the bed, she would lay beside me on the bed while I typed on the computer - until she got impatient with my "toy" and invited herself on the keyboard table. She loved my computer catz as much as I did! And yes, she seemed to like my fiance.
I had Sierra barely over a year and a half; the man and I married, and the three of us moved into an apartment. But something went terribly wrong - we are guessing the stress from the move, the marriage, and other things were too much for her and her system went bad. When she started ignoring her litter training we took her to the vet out of concern. That very night we brought her home, she seemed even more depressed than usual - and in pain. I called the vet the next day, who said her symptoms were normal. We tried easing her discomfort, but she seemed unconsolable. I called the vet again, who gave more suggestions. When she crawled under the coffee table we looked after her - and saw her convulsing. We couldn't get her to the vet fast enough.
I'm not exactly sure when the warm and loving soul left her body. I do know that we tried to rub her heart and body to keep her warm and her heart beating; my new husband tried CPR at one of the stop lights. The vet did his all to get her lungs and heart going, even a shot of adrenaline... but my baby was gone.
Since then I can't seem to stop crying - the next day was the worst. Sierra is buried underneath a tree at a relative's farm, beside other family pets. I do not know if there would have been anything I could have done, even if I had ignored the vet's advice and brought her in. It doesn't change the fact that my baby is gone.
My mother and husband have both wisely suggested that we don't try to replace her immediately - the heart needs a change to grieve. I can't help thinking that it's not normal or natural for me to be so distraught and depressed over the loss of a mere animal, but yet she was no mere animal to me... but a dear friend, a companion, and the child I did not yet have. My husband is giving me so much support, and my family and friends as well. They seem to understand. I still love my baby... and I still see her ghost stalking the apartment... and feel her snoozing in my arms. I wonder when the pain will ever go away. Mommy loves you, Sierra.