The Cats of My Life: Penny

After her death, I went to two different therapists. One, a grief counselor specializing in the human/animal bond and the other one of the leaders in interpersonal therapy who dealt mostly with dysthymia (constant low-grade depression). Both agreed: She was my real mother.

I started a charity drive to help save her life, as when her cancer returned I was told it would be $1,000 a session of radiation therapy. I had already spent all my savings to have the first tumours removed, and that was supposed to be all that was needed.

Many celebrities sent me items in support, I was able to raise about $500, but by then it was obvious God was calling his favorite angel home. I found this on the way to work a couple days before the end:

There are so many stories. Stories of how my mother did try to kill her too.

"Honey, your cat fell off the balcony!" she called one day.

"How?" I asked.

"I don't know, I think the wind knocked the door open, lifted her up and over the edge. I heard scratching, and there she was falling down."

But God wouldn't let her go until I was ready, even though I still sometimes feel like I never could be ready for her to leave.

Other stories involve her wanting to be near me so much that she'd crawl into the bathtub with me, purring as the water wicked up her fur.

When my mother or that 'bad friend' R. would yell at me, Penny would get inbetween us and start just screaming her head off at the other person.

In that end, that's the memory. The cancer is there, but she was love. She was understanding. She was constant devotion and protection. She stayed up all night to keep the demons at bay so I could sleep. When my alarm went off in the morning, after our joint constitutional (yes, she always went to the bathroom the same time as I) she'd curl up on my pillow. She stayed in the doorways and fought back the shadows that lurk there and try to escape. She made me stronger.

And she fought valiantly to stay with me as long as possible, even as her body failed her mind never did. She'd stare up at me with her emerald eyes and crawl into my lap. The vets had never seen anything like it, no matter how many tumors she had (and they spread incredibly fast, even a doctor in Italy was interested because it just wasn't seen before) she still purred, wanted to be held, to love. After all, it was only her flesh that was dying, not her soul. And while the vets said that cats get angry and hide when they are sick, Penny never did. Because she was my angel. When we went to the vet that last time, she just lay her head in my palm and didn't fight. She purred, comforted by my touch. This, even though the vet had trouble finding a vein because of the tumours. She was going home, and knew that I was safe and she had done her duty.

Warning: This video may be disturbing to some. It's of one of her last days.

(Note to David: This is one of the posts I have had a lot of trouble pulling together.)