You may not want to hear from me today. My head is muddled. I have so much on my mind that there is almost too much to write.
Yesterday morning we lost our dear, sweet little Natasha. Our angel girl kitty. For anyone who has ever been through it, no words are necessary to describe our grief. For those of you who have not, no words are sufficient.
I miss her every time I look at our bed. Our bed was Natasha’s domain. She spent every possible moment holding court there. Sleeping there. Dreaming there. Cuddling with us. Banishing her little brother, Henry. When I was sick or discouraged, she was “Nurse Natty”. She would just appear and come to wherever I was. She would sit on me and purr endlessly until either she or I had to get up. She had magical healing powers when she did that. Natasha was regally beautiful. She commanded respect. She had her own kind of intelligence. She could be very funny. When Art came in to the bedroom, she would flirt with him, rubbing up against him, nuzzling him. Then she would flop down on the bed. Art would say, “Come on, Natty. Show us what the girls in Hollywood do!”. And Natty, on cue, would roll over on her back, paws splayed, showing off her perfect white tummy for all the world to see. God, we would laugh so hard. And I think she was laughing with us.
Many times I dreamt that Natasha could speak English. I would dream that she was standing at our back door, yowling to go out. I would hear, “Meow! Meow! Meow!”, and I would stand there, helpless. Wondering why she was crying. And she would say, “MEOW! MEOW! ME! OUT!!! What’s the matter with you? Don’t you speak English?”. I am convinced that she understood every word we said. Of course, we struggled for the most rudimentary understanding of her feline language. I’m sure it was a constant source of amusement to her. Stupid humans.
For fourteen wonderful years, Natasha graced our home. She enriched our lives. She was our friend, our child, our guardian angel, our baby girl. I hope with all my heart that she is, not only finally cured of that nasty cancer, not only out of pain, but triumphant, soaring, blissful, at peace. Finally, our delicate little one is in perfect health. I envision her in a place where every iota of her beauty, her generosity of spirit, her sweetness, her grace, is reflected back through a Benevolent Being. I would like her to be in a world where she has access to unlimited catnip, beautiful birds that she can chase down who magically resurrect themselves for the next chase, endless warm summer sun baths. Perhaps she is playing with Charlie, our partly feral grey and white kitty with whom Natasha was raised. (They were polar opposites in personality, but they loved each other). I see her surrounded by her littermates and her Cat Mother/Father. I see her in fields of sweet fragrant flowers that tickle her nose, and a protective mantle of love that enfolds her and protects her for eternity.
And Art and I will join her there some day. We will all be happily reunited. And finally, we will all speak the same language.