If Love Alone Could Have Saved You, You Never Would Have Died.

As I prepare for the anticipated July Miss California Pageant, I was hit by reality this week. I received a very important lesson of growing up, a lesson of life, and a lesson of love. Snuggling up on the couch I take my oversized fleece tiger blanket and throw it over my legs. The house is cold but the warmth from my kitty, my 14 year old kitty, makes me feel safe. Running my hands through her soft fur, I admire her different colors. It’s a very confusing concept, knowing that you will never see someone again. I understand death. I know that death has to happen, it happens to us all. But Mimi was special- she was my best friend. Her black, grey, and white coat and huge green eyes would catch attention of anyone passing by. They would stop and admire her beauty, silky smooth fur, and charming features. She was the sweetest cat in the world and wouldn’t hurt anyone no matter how rough they played with her. 

Mimi came into my life at a time when I needed a friend. I was almost nine, and had just lost my other cat Sebastian. What is death at eight years old? Well, Sebastian was gone, so I should get another cat, right? I did not know what responsibility meant, I did not know what love meant, I didn’t know what friendship really meant. When my parents agreed that I could get a kitty- but I would be “responsible” for her- I was relentless in requesting to go to pet adoption day at PetSmart. My squeals of delight never stopped the entire car ride that overcast Saturday morning. When we got there a remarkably small kitten hidden in the corner of a cage as the others around her pawed through the openings tried to catch the attention of the potential owners caught my eye. “Why is she so little?” I quietly asked the adoption agent. I learned that all of her brothers and sisters had already been adopted and she was the “runt” of the litter. She meowed a lot, she was the only one not potty trained, she still had to be fed out of a bottle, and no one seemed to want her as she had been there for 3 weeks now. She was perfect. I want her. 

 At the time it was inconceivable I would learn to love this feisty, delightful little bundle of affectionate energy as much as I do now. I borrowed several children’s books from our local library to learn how to take care of her. I followed the directions I had read on how to acclimate kitty into a new home but I was terrified I would cause Kitty irreparable psychological damage. She was terribly patient with me. She felt that although I wasn't exceptionally bright, I had the best intentions. I didn’t know what to call her. I thought I was especially witty and named her “Tabitha” because she was a tabby. My dad and brother called her “Weasel” because she was always so scared of people and would poke her head out to watch from under the couch. My sister called her “Mimi” because she said when she cried it sounded like she was saying, “Mee! Mee!” I liked that name, too. We each called her by the name we favored and I think she must have been quite confused in those first few weeks. Mimi. It fit her. I stayed up at night staring at her sleep overjoyed that she was mine. When she became older and was “sentenced” to the garage at night, naturally I found ways each night to sneak her into my bed to snuggle until morning. We were sleeping buddies for the next 14 years.

When I try to express what Mimi has done for me over the years I don’t know if there was something extraordinary to say about her. She never did anything heroic. She never learned any amazing tricks nor did she do much more than any ordinary cat would do. In fact, she was scared of the rats that our other cat Fluffy would hunt down in our barn growing up- she would watch as Fluffy would get a treat at the back porch- turkey, a piece of cheese, milk- something to reward him for his appreciated kill. Fluffy would drop the hunt at the back door as soon as we would give him his reward, and before you knew it, there was a low, muffled, come-see-what-I-got meow at the front door in our courtyard. We would open the front door and Mimi would look up at me with those enlarged give-me-a-treat-mommy eyes. Hmm. That rat always looked quite familiar to one I just saw three minutes ago. Déjà vu? She slept excessively long hours in the day, if she didn’t feel like cuddling she would turn her back to me and give herself a bath, she tracked her litter all over my small 950 square foot college condo and left breathtaking smells (not the good kind) when I had company over, she peed on me several times- always when I was in a hurry and wearing nice clothes- in the car while driving back and forth from Davis to Modesto to visit home, she meowed a lot, she ALWAYS took up the ENTIRE bed when we slept and gave me the death stare when I begged to please use up the very upper corner of the bed to sleep before my 7 AM lab. She would fall asleep on my arm, or on my leg as I fell asleep and the weight of her body and the position in which I was laying would cause my limb to grow numb and ache from the strain. Inch my inch I unobtrusively as possible tried to slide out from under her until she would meow softly letting me know she didn’t like me moving. I’d wait a few minutes, staring at the 3:26 AM clock tick to 3:34 AM before I would try again. I would buy her a $10 toy, only for her to stare at it in disbelief that I thought she would actually use it and then elatedly pounce on a hairtie 3 feet away. She often got into something and would land herself in the emergency pet hospital costing me unreasonable amounts of money. The one time she found the courage to catch a mouse she victoriously dropped it onto my feet, only to find it was still alive. She would meow unremittingly when I was scrambling to finish my homework until I would pick her up and put her on my lap and awkwardly type around her. Then she wanted the chair to herself and would proceed to try to kick me off.

But Mimi waited for me in the window every day until I got home, excitedly meowing hellos with her tail swishing until I held her, eyes expressing more love than I ever deserved. She licked my hand when I cried and snuggled up onto my side. She let me dress her up in a Santa outfit every Christmas, and she would fall over when I tried to put little kitty Santa booties on her because she didn’t know how to walk in them. Then she would still snuggle with me at night even though we laughed and laughed at how adorable she was as she sat embarrassed under my meager college Christmas tree. She traveled back and forth from college to home with me in my lap- hundreds of times. When I moved to Davis to go to school, I didn’t know a soul. As outgoing and friendly as I am, I found myself speechless the first 2 days at school, too overwhelmed to make a friend. When I came home after the first day of classes, I cried and cried on my bed as Mimi let me squeeze her almost to death, not even trying to squabble away, as I sobbed my eyes out exclaiming she was my only friend. She entertained me to the point that I would physically fall over laughing. The slightest thing would get her so excited. She followed me everywhere- literally, everywhere- and I knew that the most important thing in her life was her family, the thing that she lived for. I believe that we don’t own our pets- most pets own their people. Some people see pets as a burden, a creature that needs constant care. There are some that see pet parenting as the most rewarding experience. Mimi was the best companion I have ever known.

Ryan and I could see she was not herself a few months ago and were planning on taking her to our veterinarian. We had no idea how truly ill she was. I painfully learned that she had cancer, which had spread all over her stomach. I tried to understand how this happened so fast; she had JUST had normal blood tests only 3 months before then. We could elect to have a surgery, but there were no guarantees she would survive the surgery and if so, how long she would live. I made the painful decision to let her live with dignity. I would do anything for her. I pleaded for her to please just tell me what to do. As I stared into her huge eyes that night I knew what she would have wanted. 

Mimi died May 18^th, 2010. She was 14 years old. She ate that morning. Basked in the sun. Swatted at a fly. Laid in my lap. It was sunny outside, after it had been stormy and rainy all week. I felt this was a sign that it was all going to be okay. My Grandma Vicki, one of my best friends in this entire world, came over to comfort me. She held me on our back porch swing for hours and just let me cry. That’s all I wanted to do. We talked about the agonizing decisions we needed to make in the next few hours as Mimi laid at our feet. She could barely walk nor hold her thin head up but had these little spurts of energy for a half of a minute or so. Grandma patted me and knew that she couldn’t tell me what to do- it was a decision I had to make on my own. We both cried until our eyes hurt and were puffy as we sat there and she quietly rocked us into comfort. I don’t know what I would have done without her support. When I went inside to make “the phone call” to our incredible lifelong family veterinarian, Dr. Helman, I was relieved that Mimi didn't even raise her head as I opened the door to go in. She was exhausted. She had so little left in her, and as I stared at her frail little 6.4 pound body struggle my tears wet her shiny coat. The memories of our time together flooded my mind and I thanked her for her years of devotion. Although Mimi was 14 and was recently diagnosed with cancer, I thought we'd still have many years to love and spoil her. Because Mimi was a fighter; she never gave up.

The drive to River Oak Veterinary Hospital to say goodbye to my precious kitty was the longest drive I have ever taken. I sat in the backseat stroking her and loving on her. She didn’t want to look out of the window too much, which was very much unlike herself. Knowing that she was relying on me to make the right decision was an enormous and terrifying responsibility. As she lay in my arms, I wondered if she knew my struggle. Could she feel my heart breaking? Was she begging me to end her pain? Did she know how much I loved her and I would never let her suffer? It was a very peculiar moment. She looked at me. Straight into my eyes, and never broke the gaze. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking, “mommy, what are you doing to me?” but as she stared at me more and more I could have sworn she was smiling. Perhaps thanking me for ending the pain of her cancer which was spreading all over her fragile little body and now into her colon, making it near impossible to go to the bathroom.

I held her frail little body when Dr. Helman came into the room. Ryan and I kissed her goodbye one last time and I reminded her how grateful I was for her unconditional love, and how much I loved her. She would never be replaced or forgotten. Never. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished like a 5 year old that my tears falling onto her fur would somehow miraculously heal her pain and she would jump up like her lively self and we could go home together. We went home together, but my desperate wish did not come true in the way we went home. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. Her life ended so quickly. One moment she was softly breathing in my arms and the next she was still. She never stopped staring into my eyes. That is something I will never forget. I feel like it was like her way of telling me it was going to be okay. I rocked her limp body as we drove to the spot I would lay her to rest- somewhere she would be happy and safe. The pain I felt was indescribable. It hurt all over down to my core. My Aunt Cindy is the biggest animal lover that I have ever known. She picked out a beautiful spot at her and my uncles house. I was surrounded by love and support with my Grandma Vicki, my boyfriend Ryan, my cousin Phil, and my Aunt Cindy. It was a beautiful service. I wrote Mimi a poem as I held her sweet body in my arms and whispered my parting words. We wrapped her in her favorite blanket. Ryan, Megan, and I made Mimi a beautiful casket, and lined it with waterproof material. I put my favorite pictures of us in the box on top of my beloved friend.  Gently, we lowered her into the ground beneath a tree in their garden. I thank the good Lord for our time together. She was a wonderful friend, gone, but never forgotten. Having a pet means constant joy, laughter and contentment. I cannot imagine not having had Mimi in my life for the past 14 years. So today I shall grieve the loss of a special and beloved family member, tomorrow I hope to be warmed by the glow of the many tender memories we shared.

Rest in Peace my beautiful friend.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance.  

His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. 

Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. 

The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

- Author unknown.

A flower for peace, a flower for love. A flower for friendship, and a flower for strength. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush of birds in flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die...

- Author unknown.