I drove two small kitten home in a shoebox. They named themselves on the way. My orange boy was Bo. His sister was Maggie. I sang to them all the way. They were inseparable.
Both were FIV positive. My beautiful Bo made it eight good years before his kidneys failed. He was a wonderful boy and a loving brother. Mags and Bo adored one another, never fought- and always seemed to make eachother ‘smile’.
I was forty-one when they adopted me. And even though I had other cats in my family, these two taught me more than the others. This is not always the case with siblings. Often, they choose to hang out together and pay less attention to their human. Not so with these two. They taught me patience when I was most impatient with how the world was whirling around me. They taught me love when love was not to be found. And they gave me comfort through despair, through surgeries, job-loss and frustration. Seemingly endless frustration.
But Maggie was my nurse cat. She was the one who would find me where-ever I was and push her nose into my teary face- would swish her tail (I really loved her tail- striped with a dash of red at the end) around my legs and plant herself firmly in my space. She’d curl up with me at night and purr me to sleep when sleep just wouldn’t come. And her enchanting green eyes held me captive. I was her’s completely.
She traveled with me from Maryland’s Eastern Shore to Charlottesville Virginia and tolerated living in an Airstream while I taught at a farm school…. and then adjusted to living in my father’s house- which she loved- while I tended my dad as he slowly lost his where-with-all and then his life after a stroke.
She was there for me then, once again-- always watching out for me- and always, always there if I drank too much wine— or bourbon— as I dealt with the process of grieving while being executor while grieving…. She didn’t judge or withhold her affection when I was in a foul temper. She was there. Right there with me. Some folks think this is a woozle attribute only. Not so. Her deep throaty purr would sooth and repair my damaged soul. When I was the most sad I’ve ever been, she would not budge.
We moved from Virginia to ‘Down East’ Maine this past May. That’s a journey of four and a half hours, then eight hours and then finally four and a half hours- with overnight stops between each interval. I was worried that she might not make the journey well. She had gotten old- into her seventeenth year- and prone to UTI or kidney issues due to her pos FIV status. But no. She traveled like a champ. She adjusted and handled all the changes. Every. Single. One. And when we finally arrived here— in MY ‘forever’ home, she found that she loved it! The pines smelled good, the grass felt good, the walks to the pond were exciting, and she had all sorts of places to be calm and quiet whenever she needed them. She loved being warm but in the shade. She loved her breakfasts and dinner-times. And she loved me. And I loved her to bits and pieces. I could not have loved her more.
She’s left me with my heart torn and my house less warm in her absence. But she had a wonderful life- many years longer than anyone would have guessed. And she is no longer in pain, or confused, or struggling. She is with her brother and her two aunties who raised her, Peggie and Beans. The painful part now is… what do I do… when she’s so far away, and I am blue. What do I do?
Goodbye, dear sweet girl.
And one more- because I can’t just be sad- knowing how much about love she taught me. So I’ll leave you with this instead. She’d like that.