Gone the Familiar

She arrived in '97 at the age of 10, after her first "Mom" died. After my Dad died, and life felt suddenly empty.

We needed each other, I think. I needed her, certainly.

"She's grieving," said a Reiki Master, a few months later, as she held her hand above CJ's tiny six-pound frame. "Here," she said, then slowly eased her pain.

Later than night, CJ scaled the loft-wall above my bed and landed with enthusiasm on the pillow next to my head. It was the first time she came to me, uncalled.

Each night thereafter, she would come to bed with me, sitting by my head as I relaxed, tossed to the right, tossed to the left and began to fall asleep. She knew the routine. It was only after I'd tossed one final time that she would tap at the blankets for me to let her in, and curl into my stomach for the night.

In the morning, she'd get impatient. Four hits of the snooze button was enough for her, and she'd begin pacing up and down the bed as if to say, "OK, it IS time to get up now." When I didn't listen, she'd stick her face in mine--"Hello?"--her whiskers making me sneeze awake.

They say cats are either born from jungle cats or desert cats. If there were ever a species of water cats, those were CJ's ancestors. She loved to drink from the faucet, or neglected glasses of water. She took her place on the rim of the sink when I brushed my teeth or washed the dishes--looking ready to pounce. In later years, she began taking showers with me. At first, I thought she was being silly and senile. And then I realized she'd stopped grooming herself--no doubt the arthritis made it more difficult than a brief stroll through the tub. She even seemed to enjoy the morning blow-dry!

In the summertime, CJ would sit on the screen porch, watching the birds fly by and lounging in the sun for hours. In winter, she took to the warmth of the computer monitor and slept all day above me as I worked. She cursed the day the flat screen arrived--work hasn't seemed the same since.

When the day was done, I'd turn off the TV, shut off the lights and head upstairs--with CJ no more than two steps behind me, every night.

It's difficult to talk about her--and her sisters Emily and Crystal--without sounding like the stereotypical single woman, the "cat lady" and all that. But she was--they are--my constant companions.

CJ, though, was special. She and I shared a bond that seemed, at times, almost human. Familiar. Often, when we sat together, she would stretch herself out and rest her paw on my hand. When I was sick or sad, she'd pay special attention and snuggle in just a little closer.

On her last day, she went out on the screen porch. It was a warm March morning, and she sat for a while, under a blanket I draped over her. She seemed to enjoy the sun, bright in her face, and the sound of the birds making ready for spring. So, we stayed there a while, and I rested my hand on her paw, snuggling in just a little closer...one last time.


"As strong as you were,
tender you'll go.
I'm watching you breathing,
for the last time.
A song for your heart,
but when it is quiet,
I know what it means
and I'll carry you home."

- James Blunt