Paw prints in the snow

Many, many years ago, before children, before marriage, and before college graduation, Randy and I rescued a small, feral cat. At the time (around 2004), she was estimated to be between one and three years old. She lived in a small cat colony in Randy's apartment parking lot. And she was pregnant. In spite of her skittish nature, she did like people. She was sweet and diminutive and would hide from her own shadow. We called her Belle.

Over the years Belle went through many moves. From Blacksburg to Raleigh, to Durham to New Kent, to West Point to State College and several moves after, she came with us. She despised our expanding family, her fragile nerves greatly spent by the cry of each successive newborn. She spent most of her days hiding under and in things. We finally returned her to outdoor living and she thrived, being more at peace than ever. Over the next few years, she lived the best outdoor cat life, with a special heated house and water dish, more chipmunks to hunt than she could ever catch, and patches of grass in the sunshine where she could lounge. 

She had a meow like a velociraptor. It was piercing and crackly. Every morning, the sound would greet you as you opened the door. In winter, she made a little trail in the snow between her shed / heated house and the main house. Tiny paw prints imprinted in the snow. 

We used to joke that our Belle was immortal. With every passing year she grew older but showed no sign of her age. She was a mouser through and through. She lost her hearing but yet still managed to hunt with the agility of a much younger cat. 

At the start of the summer of 2022 though, we started to notice a difference in our twenty-year old kitty. She wasn't eating as well, and we switched her to wet cat food. Eventually, she was eating less and less. We began to realize that our kitty was finally nearing the end of her life.

The end came rapidly. She would only eat the gravy in the wet food, then would only lap tuna juice, and in the last days, could not even be enticed by these favorites. She had lost so much weight from her already tiny frame. Then she could barely walk, and we made the decision to call the vet and have them help her pass peacefully. I had not wanted to take that route; she was terrified of the carrier, the car, and any new people. I didn't want her to go in fear, but I could not bear to watch her suffer.

Before that time arrived, I decided to sit with her one more time. One of her favorite things was when I would sit in a chair outside. She would jump into my lap and immediately perform the most excruciating pushies on my thighs. On her last morning, I gently wrapped her in a towel and carried her over to a chair, placing her in my lap. While she could no longer hear me, I spoke encouraging words to her, reminding her of what a good girl she was and assuring her that it was time to move on. I saw her tiny paws form the smallest pushing motions as I stroked her fur. Within minutes, she breathed her last few breaths, and passed away in my arms. Our family gathered around her and sobbed as we said goodbye. 

We buried her near our fire pit, because she loved spending summer evenings laying in the grass beside our marshmallow roasts. She might have despised living under the same roof with us, but she loved our company on her own terms.

It has been so strange to no longer be greeted by her mechanical meows each morning or see her waiting on our stoop when I pull into the driveway. There will be no more cuddles in the yard. No more paw prints in the snow. 

(I wrote this in July of 2022. It has been almost a year before I have been able to publish this. I only decided to do so for my children's sake, because this will help them remember some day  Her loss has been felt acutely. She was such a good girl.)