So, I ended up taking two kittens. I had the tan colored one, that I picked originally, and the little reddish, orange one whose mom picked me. I learned pretty fast how to take care of them. I learned, for example, that when I found kitty poop in my shoes that meant the litter box needed changing. I learned that the couch will be scratched (and ruined) whether I liked it or not and that I will share my bed and that the areas behind my knee caps are reserved for the cats on especially cold nights.
About 6 months later, on New Year’s Eve, I came home from a night of celebrating only to find that my kitties were gone! The next afternoon, when they didn’t come home my anxiety turned into despair. I combed the neighborhood looking for them but didn’t see any sign. They were gone. Two days later I heard a “meow” outside the window and when I went to look it was PC, the reddish, orange cat! I opened the door and without any invitation he walked in like he had only been gone for 10 minutes! The other one never showed up and I, to this day, never found out what happened to him, nor where PC been for three days.
Fast forward to 3 and-a-half years later. It is summer again and a lot of changes have taken place. I was now married, raising two (step) children and had just given birth to my first child. For many reasons we (hubby and I) decided that we needed to find another home for PC. It was a very hard decision for me to make and I had put it off for as long as I could. Besides being completely overwhelmed with a new baby, taking care of two children and dealing with a lot of extended family strife, we were also keeping the fact that we had a cat on the down-low from the property managers because we were not allowed to have pets. Unfortunately, with everything going on in my life, my precious kitty who used to be number one on my priority list was slowly moving down the totem pole into obscurity as well as becoming a source of conflict between hubby and I. Hubby complained about the smell, the cat hair and the scratching of the furniture and I could not keep justifying it. Things came to a head one evening when hubby went to check on the baby, who was napping in his crib, and found the cat in there with him. He had a fit and I lost my resolve.
I conceded and began asking around to see if anyone could or wanted to take my cat. A former co-worker agreed to take him He had been wanting to get a pet for his 4 year-old daughter and plans were made. We arranged to meet and said our final goodbyes in a Tony Roma’s parking lot. As I stroked his head and looked into his eyes for the last time, I felt the strangest sensation that he understood that we were saying goodbye and that it would be the last time he would see me. With a heavy heart I watched him drive off.
A few hours later the phone rang and it was my former co-worker. “Babaloo,” he said. “Something is wrong with the cat. He is totally throwing up and making gagging noises.”
Hearing the alarm in his voice, I tried my best to calm him and reassure him that the cat hadn’t been sick and that most likely it was his own hair that he was throwing up and to make sure he had plenty of water.
Two hours later he called back. “Babaloo,” he said. “The cat is dead...he’s...totally dead. I don’t know what to do.”
OMG, I totally freaked out. How is that possible? I just had him in my arms. How could he just die like that? He was only 4 years-old. He was never sick a day in his life. Then, it struck me as I remembered that last moment we shared together. He knew he was never going to see me again. Somehow, he knew. Is it possible he died of a broken heart? It was both a disturbing as well as a comforting thought. And? I really didn’t have any other explanation. We had a connection and once it was broke, he broke as well.