Redtree Times

Zsa Zsa 2020

Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well:
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well.

–William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

We knew something was wrong on Sunday evening. Zsa Zsa was not next to me when I woke up on the couch that evening. We were couch buddies, a habit formed over many years. Whenever I sat down on the couch, no matter the time of day, she would make a beeline to come curl up next to me. I was as hooked on this practice as she was. Her low grinding purr of contentment was mine as well.

She came to us about 17 years ago as a very young stray cat, one that followed us on our walks, running from tree to tree for cover. It was a pretty effective strategy. We sensed that something was there and sometimes caught tiny glimpses of a shadowy critter but was never quite sure. As is the habit of stray cats once they have vetted you for civility and kindness over a period of time, she made herself known. Over the following months, she would come to us and let us pet her outdoors.

Trying her to come inside was a different proposition altogether. We tried unsuccessfully a number of times as the winter approached. She had that feral skittishness especially about being placed in any form of confinement. And to her a house, though she knew nothing about how one worked, was a big cage. But Christmas Eve that year was bitterly cold and we worried about this little cat, who was then probably only eight or nine months. She was at our back door late that evening and I opened it for her. She wanted companionship but was not going to come through that door under any circumstance. I laid down across the threshold of the door, the frigid air filling the house, and put my head down. She approached and pushed her head against mine. I extended an arm and she let me pet her back while softly headbutting me.

I tried moving further into the house but that a was big no go for her. I moved back to where I was straddling inside and outside and we resumed our prior arrangement. This went on for a few minutes and at a certain point I felt that she could easily be swept into the warmth of the house if I were to make a grab.  I lurched, grabbing her and pulling her tightly to my head, trying to quickly pull her in.

Bad move. I had her but she kicked off from me in trying to get herself free. Blood ran down my face and hands. But she was inside.

I won’t go into her long transition into becoming solely a housecat which occurred a few years later.  For the last fourteen years or so, our home was her home. We were her family and she was ours. She was forever skittish, hiding when strangers were in the house. She also had little tolerance or warmth for our other cats.  That was reserved for us. And she gave it freely, with almost what I sensed to be a form of loving gratitude for pulling her in on that Christmas Eve so many years ago.

She was old now and had ailments, of course. She had gone to Cornell Veterinary several years ago for thyroid problems that threatened her life. Without the radioactive pellets that were inserted, she had little time left. The treatment gave her about five more years and she made the most of it, soaking up a constant stream of affection from us both.

But yesterday morning, sensing that something wrong after her absence on the prior evening, I noticed that her eye was almost closed and there was swelling underneath it. Cheri called our vet and took her in immediately. She called me a bit later in the morning. She was bleeding into her eye, and they had done ultrasounds and x-rays. Cancer had spread throughout her body.

Fucking cancer.

She came home for the last time yesterday in a small cardboard coffin.

I buried her, crying all the time, in the woods next to another loved cat, Tinker, putting a cairn of large stones over her grave. She’s at home among the trees she once knew so well.

I wasn’t going to write this today. To be honest, I was exhausted this morning after yesterday’s emotions and the physical effects of losing and burying Zsa Zsa. My walk to the studio was more akin to the movement of a slug than that of a human. There is probably a slime trail through the woods. But I have promised myself that I would write every day for a year– almost halfway there– and besides, my Zsa Zsa, like all living beings, deserved to have a bit of her story told.

There’s more that could be wrote about this simple, little cat. I am grateful that she came into our lives. For today, I am content in just remembering all the love she gave to us.

As is the case with all love, we are better for it.

Thank you, Zsazie. Good travels, my sweet baby. Fare thee well.

Here’s a song that just came on as I was finishing this. Made me bawl like a baby. This is Bonnie Raitt and John Prine singing his Angel From Montgomery.