Passing

My first moments with Lucy Snowe began as a fight, her swatting and struggling as I gently dragged out from underneath the car in the Greensboro Mall parking garage. I was not thinking about getting a cat in that moment – I was more concerned about the cars speeding by her hiding place.

But the moment I held her in my arms, the moment she relaxed and began to purr, I was smitten. Any half formed thoughts I possessed about taking her to a shelter melted away in the warmth of her little body. I took her home, and much to the chagrin of my roommate, insisted on keeping her.

I remained smitten for eighteen years. Through seven moves, a wedding, a pregnancy, a birth. All that time, Lucy was a fixed presence in my life.

It was only fitting that our relationship ended the way it began, with her fighting with the vet tech over the catheter inserted into her right paw. Holding her close as the veterinarian injected first the sedative, then the drugs that stopped her heart.

Making the decision to put her to sleep was the easy part. Always tiny, she had lost an enormous amount of weight, could not keep food down, could not make it to the litter box, could not groom herself properly, and became confused about where she was.

The difficult part was cleaning out the carrier, lining it with the towel, taking it to the car, and walking through the door of the clinic. The devastating part was letting go and leaving her body, once she had passed.

My beautiful, sweet, little cat is gone. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to have her sleeping head across my neck. But she is no longer here when I open them.