In the Time of Your Life, Live

We named her Seven. But my youngest wasn't sold on the name, so I took the red magnetic 9 off our fridge, placed it in the kitten's dish and said: "Wouldn't it be funny if Seven ate 9?" That rocked my four year old's body with laughter and from then on Seven was our new cat's official name. My eldest always called her Sevy.

My son brought the little fireball home almost twenty years ago. She's an elderly lady now, fast asleep in her little suitcase, dreaming cat dreams - all the mice chased and caught, the sleuthing in the grass and the meowing in the kitchen. She’s very peaceful and has been so these past few days. She constantly surprises me though as she rises on unsteady feet to go to her litter box and then back to the suitcase.

Or she wanders to the open backdoor, falls into a lying position on the porch, and takes in the sights and sounds and scents. This morning, fairies danced on her fur: little bits of colourful light cast by sunlight through the crystals hanging from the porch chandelier.

When she’d had enough, she rose but couldn’t quite manage the step up to come inside. I got down on her level and told her she could do it. And she did.

In the past three years she’s made some astounding comebacks from illnesses. This time I suspected she wouldn’t, yet I didn’t give up hope - if she has it in her to live I am here to help, likewise if she is going to die. The vet made her as comfortable as possible by fixing a few diagnosed problems. Now, cuddled up sleeping, her tail flicks or her paws twitch, catching that mouse all over again perhaps.

As if she knows I’m writing this, she just wakened and raised her head to watch me - she’s always watched me, and others, as we go about our business, just keeping an eye on the busy humans, wondering if they have some good food or a scratch behind the ears to offer. I have both for her of late (and always) but now all she’ll eat is milk and eggs. A day ago she gobbled a bit of cut-up hot dog. She used to like potato chips - and pizza.

She also used to like seeing herself and the whole wide world in mirrors.

Throughout her infirmity, she purrs. At night when all is quiet, her purr is so loud I get up to see if some motor is humming. It is. It's her motor. I fall back to sleep, then wake in the wee hours to find her asleep on the floor next to my bed. This is something she’s always liked to do, but now I am amazed at her tenacity to get here, a testament to the power of our connections with animals and their connections with us.

Our dog Nixie has always loved to groom Seven, especially her ears. Seven welcomes the attention and has the cleanest ears in town. Tonight she needed a little extra grooming, so I gave her a bath. She had egg under her chin and all down her beautiful white front.

She was frail and lovely and compliant, floating in the warm water, getting clean and smelling good again. How she used to fight and howl in the tub! And how she loved to howl in the depths of the night too, often soothed by my daughter and her partner as I slept - that is, until she figured out to come right up to my bed and wake me with her persistent close-up meowing.

After her bath I wrapped her in a towel and blow-dried her fur. I made her a bed by the rad. She usually likes to keep her head up, alert, her jewel-green eyes following my movements, but she slept soundly. When she woke I placed her in her suitcase with a clean blanket and there she slept.

My partner is the son of a doctor and his knowledge of how the body works (and stops working) was an invaluable comfort through this time, plus he loves her as much as the rest of us.

This morning, my patting didn’t rouse her. She was breathing but she was on her way out. I tried to be philosophical - death is part of the life cycle; it’s not an end but a beginning - but mostly, I was hearing playwright William Saroyan's words echoing in my brain: “In the time of your life, live.”

Seven certainly did just that. And during her nineteen and a half years, she affirmed for me that living life to its fullest is the only way to go. Our pets teach us so much - about loyalty and unconditional love, and about playing and focusing and relaxing.

They teach us how to live.

And how to die.

Seven was a most extraordinary cat. RIP Seven.