Isis – A life in four paws
ONE – the beginning:
She started life as the smallest kitten in the litter. With her enormous eyes, giving that “Well, would you just LOOK at that!” glance, she won her way into my life. I should have known that those eyes would reflect the range of her sweetness. It was her sweetness that won her way into my heart, where she took up residence for twenty two years. She was a beautiful Abyssinian mix; she was noble, but not royal. She had beautiful coloring, … but it was that personality that got me… over and over again.
In the beginning, her life was really not an easy one. She had to share her residence with Nefer, a very aggressive blue blood Abyssinian. Nefer’s attacks probably explained her future resentment of other cats. True to her native spirit, she transferred her natural flair for society (Lions are known for their pride … in every sense of that word) into the company of humans. If you sat down, your lap was considered fair game, and a more than fair resting place. And when I write “your lap”, I mean exactly that. Any lap, friend’s, company’s, a stranger’s lap, the piano tuner’s, it was all the same to Isis. She was an equal opportunity lap sitter.
She loved the company of humans, always interested in helping you read, helping you with the laundry, helping you eat, and best of all, helping you find just the right place on the bed. (If there is such a thing as a “Teddy Cat”, that … was Isis.) As I slept on my side, she would curl up in front of my stomach, or in the crook of my arm, placing her head in my hand, and purr’d herself to sleep. That pattern never really changed throughout her lifetime. She loved putting her head into my hand.
True to the nature of her species, she loved to look down. In house after house, she would jump to the kitchen counters, to the top of the refrigerator, and then prowl the tops of the kitchen cabinets, clearly loving the view, and the opportunity to “look down” on the humans. One of the things that made Isis so unique was her sense of delicate grace. She never knocked ANYthing over. In tight spots, she always managed to side step or squeeze by whatever obstacles were in her way.
This is not to suggest that Isis never got into trouble or did anything wrong. I do remember when she was still little more than a kitten, with her claws very much intact, she used to have great fun, racing from the kitchen into the living room, into the hallway, back into the kitchen, over and over and over, until she tired of the “Las Vegas Speedway”, and would peel off from the hallway into the bedroom, with a grand finale leap onto the bed. I remember one of these times with special reason, for I was asleep IN that bed, and when she landed, she landed, claws extended, on ME. Where she landed one me is best left to the imagination, but suffice it to say… Isis came “THAT close” to being an ex-cat! She lost her claws soon after.
I knew how very close we were, on the last night of my first house. I had been moving the last of my clothes into my temporary quarters across town, and I thought I’d leave Isis for last. The process took longer than expected, and it was 4 in the morning by the time I was ready to say a final farewell to my first home. I was already pretty tired and more than a little emotional at this moment. When I walked into the house to make one final check, I found it was hard to say “good-bye”. This was my first house, and I had been in it for more than a decade. Isis normally would greet me, but this time, she was nowhere to be seen. I searched and searched, fearing the worst. “She couldn’t possibly have gotten out… where IS she???” The thought of losing her frightened me, and the search got pretty desperate. (Imagine me running through a 1200 sq ft home at 4 in the morning, room after room, pulling open doors and drawers.) I finally found her, hiding… in the tiny cabinet above the refrigerator. She KNEW something important was up, but she didn’t know what. She was frightened she would be left behind. Her fear provoked my tears and my reassuring hugs. While in subsequent years, I would take real vacations, I like to think she still always knew, she would NEVER really be abandoned.
TWO – the new house:
The new house was a two-story model. Have you ever seen a 2-year-old child negotiate going down a stairway? First one foot on a step, then the other… now the next step with one foot, then the other. Well, multiply the feet… by four, and that’s how Isis learned how to walk down the stairs. I think she really felt home in that house, for in addition to the same kitchen cabinets on which to perch, the house also had a “pot shelf” above the living and dining rooms, and even more lofty balcony from which to continue to look down upon the world (and those poor unfortunates
not blessed to be cats).
Isis possessed a psychic ability to know where I was going to be, and she would invariably and infuriatingly be there prior to my going there. “How do you KNOW I was going there… how do you KNOW???”, I would yell in exasperation. It didn’t matter whether it was the second bedroom or the third bathroom… there she was ahead of me! (I did mention that she loved human company didn’t I? The geography was clearly secondary to the company.) She would just stare back at me with that Sphinx-like expression, “Poor human… he just doesn’t know, does he”.
Language is something I have always liked. I’ve studied both Latin and French, learned a smattering of Vietnamese and Thai, and was trained in the subliminal Freudian slips and body language of Psychology. One thing that always struck me was how rarely Isis actually spoke. She purred a lot (which I took to mean she was content a lot),
but her meow’s were rare.
I read how cats who enjoy each other’s company would groom each other. I took her licking of my fingers and face to be a great sign of affection. While the idea of returning that particular favor did not ever seem inviting, from time to time, I would nuzzle the back of her head in a similar kind of gesture. (I must confess this may sound a tad goofy or peculiar, but it was based on the idea that when in Vietnam, I should speak Vietnamese with a Vietnamese accent. It was a great source of pride to me that upon my first trip to France, I routinely got asked “Tu es Francais?” – Are you French? The accent was pas mal, but not le vocabulaire.) I choose to believe that Isis knew my attempts to tell her in her language that she was loved were appreciated. (Of course, she still might have been thinking … “Poor human, he really just does not know!”)
THREE – the trips:
I find myself remembering taking vacations, and how even as I would pack, I would invariably have to remove Isis from the socks. She would shuttle between lying on the laid out clothes, to jumping inside the luggage… all with a “Please don’t go” attitude. During my vacations, my very good friend Dan would pick up my mail, check on the house, and of course, play and visit with Isis. Normally, upon his entry into the house he tells me she would run out and start meowing for food, company, or attention (or all three!) One time, Dan arrived to find the house silent. He called for her. No response. He looked for her. No cat. He searched under beds, in closets, behind doors. Not a whisker of her to be seen. Near panic, he called his wife April, (a very bright and insightful woman) asking for help. “Oh, that’s simple. Where are you? The kitchen? Does he have a can opener? Depress it!” Not a nano-second later …. “MEEEOOOWWW”, as she came running out from behind the sofa. (Translation: “Here I am… now where’s that tuna!?!?!”) “Gee I think this human is smarter than the one who lives here!”
Upon my return from a trip to New York or Europe, I would get “the treatment”. First, there would be the meows (she HAD learned to talk by this point, and was making up for lost years of silence), then she’d follow me around. Of course, it was not enough just to follow me, she would follow me around only to turn her back on me… so I should KNOW she was ignoring me. If I moved to some other point in the house, she’d repeat the pattern. (Where did she learn her sense of drama… I have no idea!)
Aside from the drama, there was the fun. And fun to Isis was always something very simple. Toys were ignored. Gifts were something to look at, then walk away from. BUT … leave the tissue paper in the box on the floor and let her walk around in it … now THAT’S fun. Or chase after the light from a flashlight… that was a blast. The best fun of all was contact though. Sitting on a lap, laying on a leg, sleeping on my chest, Isis craved contact. (Whoever said cats are aloof, never met Isis.) Even the desire for perching that she loved so much, could best be satisfied by crawling up on my shoulder, placing her rump on my shoulder, her front paws on my elbow, and staying there as I walked around the house. (“Oh… a mobile perch! Now this human is starting to catch on!”)
FOUR – the end:
As the years collected memories, her age caught up to her. For a cat who, excepting the first few years of her life, never really had a vet, she remained in remarkable good health. (Indoor cat, only dry cat food, no claws, no “internals”) In fact the first weekend I spent in my new house (this current one), I was still unpacking, and washing dishes. I had turned my head only to find Isis sniffing around inside the dishwasher. “Will you get out of there!” I said. She turned to leap away, but caught her hind leg, and failing to make the leap, impaled herself on the “spokes” of the dishwasher that separate the dishes. Luckily she didn’t break the skin, but she hobbled around on 3 legs, clearly injured. I was horrified, shocked, scared, and knew I had to find a vet. Luckily this IS Las Vegas, and even some vets are open 24 hours. I found one not too terribly far away, and I picked her up and off we went.
It turned out to be an interesting evening. While being interviewed by the nurse at the Emergency Animal Hospital, she asked me if I was from Kentucky.
(“Kentucky??? Meeee?”)
“No”, I replied, “I’m from New York City” (Kentucky???? )”Well, I’m from Kentucky, and my maiden name is Willett”. I thought, “Well, this is going to be good… a long lost cousin will be treating my cat”.
The vet finally entered the room, and after examining her, diagnosed a simple, and soon to heal sprain.
“Nothing serious at all”. He added, “I would like to ask you a few questions… how old is she?” “Twenty” “No… really… how old is she?” “She is twenty!” With a shocked look, the vet said, “I’ve been practicing medicine for almost 17 years now, and I have NEVER seen a 20 year old cat look this good. She’s still only 5 lbs, and while I can tell she’s lost a little muscle tone, she’s in GREAT shape. What do you feed her?” “Uuuuh, whatever’s on sale. I mix IAMS, Purina, Friskies… all dry. She occasionally gets to lick the lid of the yogurt tub, but that’s pretty much it”. “Okaaaay…. the dry is good. Who’s your vet?” “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh…. I don’t have one. I always meant to find one when I moved into my second house, but somehow it always got put off until later….”, I added with some embarrassment. “Well, I wouldn’t worry… you’ve clearly done all right by her”.
Isis likes to sleep in my bed, and with her sprain, she couldn’t leap up to the top mattress. To make it easier for her, I placed a bunch of pillows at the side of the bed, making a ramp. That way she could walk up on a soft “ladder”, get into bed, and she still wouldn’t risk injuring herself. Dan says I spoil her; I just think I’m being considerate.
The normal life span of a cat is 12 – 15 years. Last year, I think Age started winning the race as it caught her. I had to return to a vet and found out she had arthritis. She was moving slower and stiffer. Her naps were deeper, longer, and her desire for company much more insistent. While she loved being “face to face” with me while I read or slept, the feeling of those whiskers tickling the inside of my nose was just NOT a good thing. Being Isis, no matter how many times I moved her away, she always inched up to that same spot, and would lick the side of my face or my fingers. (Did I tell you she was a loving animal??? Did I mention that yet?)
The end came pretty quickly, and I honestly, I knew it. Over the span of a week, she just couldn’t sit. She could lie down, but she couldn’t sit. She hobbled as she walked. More telling, she stopped eating. I went to store after store, let’s try this brand…. Gourmet, hard food, soft morsels, and finally … canned. She ate a little of that, but even wound up walking away from her favorite treats, yogurt and cheese.
After spending the night curled up together, last Monday, March 14th, I took her to the vet again. He said she’s clearly in pain, and the arthritis medicine was just not doing the job anymore. “I could give her steroids. That might work, but the problem with steroids is that it very often leads to liver complications. At her age, the best you might be doing is buying her a few months or weeks”. I found myself remember Mom, who spent the last few years in a nursing home, and had dwindled down to 74 lbs at the time of her passing. I didn’t want that for Isis. The vet and I discussed whether I wanted to be there, and I gave a definite “Yes”.
I had thought about this moment for a long time. Every year above 15 was a gift. And I had frequently said that I wanted mine to be the last face that she saw. So, with her head cradled in one hand, and my other hand gently rubbing her head, (similar to how we would be just prior to sleep) the doctor injected the needle into her front leg. I felt her spirit drift away, and looking into my eyes, she relaxed in my hand, and died.
I don’t think I will ever forget that moment. As I thought about that moment all week long, I realized that Death has been a part of my professional life. I found myself remembering my very first USAF assignment at Scott AFB in Illinois. Within the very first month I was there, a C-9 Med-evac jet had been practicing touch and go’s. There was a major engine malfunction and the plane crashed on the runway, killing the crew. I was in charge of the film crew documenting the charred bodies. I never forgot how they looked; I never forgot the smell. I saw Death in Vietnam on scales both large and small. Working as a therapist with firefighters and paramedics, I was taken into the world of suicides, murders, accidents, and disease. I watched my Mom’s bone cancer take its toll, and exact a final payment. This time, it was different. While it was very quick, with the drug taking only about 30 seconds, it was the first time I had ever been there, at the exact moment of Death. I feel… changed.
I feel sad. As I type this, it’s Friday, so I’ve had 5 days to process this experience. I took that Monday off, and I cried, slept, cried, cleaned, and cried some more. As I vacuumed (to keep myself busy), I couldn’t get past the thought that somehow I was vacuuming Isis’ presence out of the house. By the time I got to the third bedroom where her litter box was located, I found that she had thrown up. I looked at it, and just turned off the vacuum. “I just can’t do it… This is the last part of her. I just … can’t”. So far, the vacuum and the throw up have remained there.
I expect
I’ll manage it better tomorrow.
I feel lonely. Isis was the most consistent, constant, and immediate source of affection in my house over the last 2 decades. The house feels empty without her. I miss her warmth, her company, … I even
miss those damned whiskers.
I also feel grateful. On Wednesday morning, as I drove to work, I found myself thanking God that He directed my hand as I picked Isis out of the litter. There were other cats, and she was the smallest in size. I suspect she still had the biggest heart. I am grateful for what she taught me. She never cared … about what kind of day I had, what kind of clothes I was wearing, even about whether Cathy, Matt, or Ramon had been crappy to me… she was just happy to be in my company. She didn’t even care if I yelled at her… two minutes later, there she was, tail in the air, trotting up to me, nudging her face into my hand so I could pet her again. That’s a lesson in forgiveness I wish I could learn better and practice much more often. I remember writing a line in one of my shows, “Cats (and dogs) are truly unconditional Love … wrapped in fur”. If only people could be as good as animals.
I miss petting her. I miss holding her. I miss her perching on my arm. Seeing her grace. Watching her power. Feeling her softness. Hearing her purr. Being floored again and again by that “wide eyed” look of hers. I truly miss her …
just being there.
I believe, or choose to believe I will see her again. I used to say to her, “You know, I really expect that you’ll go before I do. But when it’s my turn, I really want you to come find me, tap me on the shoulder, and say, “Hi… remember me?”
One of the most amazing things about Isis, was that she would come to me whenever I called her. I look to that time when I can call her name again, wiggle my fingers, and watch her coming up to me, tail raised, resonating her purr, and nuzzling her affectionate spirit in my hands one more time.
I was graced by the companionship of a very loving animal. I am a very sad, but a very lucky guy. I think God is pretty lucky too. I have no doubt, Isis is there with Him. I can see her trotting right up to Him, jumping into His lap, and pushing on His hand with her head, inviting His touch.
She was my baby.
She was my companion.
She was my fun.
She was my friend.
She was my family.
She was my consolation.
She was my cat.
She was my Lion.
She was my love.
She was my Isis.
In Loving Memory,
| Isis |
| 14, Mar 2005 |
| Brian Willett |