Bridget

 This is going to be a tough one.  Almost a year ago, I lost my beloved, 17 year old cat.  Growing  up, I learned that pets were sweet and fun, but they were pets.  Pet: something about that word doesn't fit for me.  These beings who know us better than many humans we're close to, who accept our bad behavior, forgive fully  and only seek to be in our company.  I mean cats, too.  If you don't think so, you really don't know cats.  My cat, Bridget, was a soul mate.  She was opinionated, bossy, demanding and just full of love.  Her happiest times were curled up on my lap.  Because I couldn't in good conscience be a birder and have an outside cat, Bridget wore a harness and long lead and basked in the sun on the deck.  She would go for walks on her lead around the yard, as long as she could decide where we went.  The best part of the walk was rolling on the warm concrete driveway.  Pure bliss, eyes closed, getting completely twisted up in the lead, but not caring.  She never panicked on the lead either.  If it pulled or she got twisted around patio chair legs, which was often, she simply sat down and waited for me to rescue her.   Of course, whenever she was outside, I kept a close watch. 

Bridget, like many cats, developed kidney failure as she aged.  Our wonderful vet said that in order to prolong her life, we would need to 'hydrate her'.  This means placing an IV needle in the neck scruff and running in about 8 ounces of IV fluid.  Every day.  In a cat.   I'm a nurse and my husband is a pharmacist and we still were freaked out.   Turned out she was the soul of patience.  Somehow, she got the importance of it.   She never went and hid, even though we did it at the same time every day, after dinner.   She'd let me pick her up and sit her on the counter while my husband prepared the needle and hung the fluid.  One short meow as the needle entered and then she just sat, still as a cat, until we were done ~ it only took about 7 minutes.  Oh, once in a while she'd have a little meltdown when we'd have to wait a half hour and re-try, but we did this for seven years!  And she had a great quality of life for all those seven years.

She had been a shelter kitten and just hated being behind bars.  The first time we had to board her, I asked the vet if she could have extra time outside her enclosure.  When we returned a week later, Bridget was living in the vets' spacious office, snoozing on a chair.  Such was her charm.

About this time last year, I could tell that she wasn't feeling as well as she had been.  Sleeping more, eating less.  Then eating much less.   There is no cure for failing kidneys in animals.  (Well, some places do transplants but I won't even go there.)   When I would say her name, she would still  look at me with big eyes, but there was less focus in those lovely eyes.  I knew her time was limited. 

We said goodbye the last day of May last year.  Our vet-beyond-compare came to the house so that Bridget's last journey wouldn't be in a car.  I held her.  My husband caressed her.  Crying now as I think about it.  We put her to rest in the yard with a view out to the water, where she used to love to sit and watch the ducks. 

I tell people now that we just cried and drank wine for a week.  It was tough.  The 'first times' are killers.  The first time you go outside and she's not waiting at the door for her harness to be put on.  The first time you get in bed and she isn't right there, leaning first on one human, then the other, for her well-deserved love.  The leftovers of a life: cat food, IV fluid, leads and harnesses.  God.  I understand why folks say they'll never have another animal.   But I knew that I was meant to have another kitty, and I knew that, once Bridget was gone, she would fully approve.  But that's another story.

Right now, each day reminds me of her and of that sweet, unconditional love.  You can find it at any Shelter.  It's priceless.