Clawdia the Queen

Clawdia was a grey female cat who walked herself into our lives shortly after we bought our house. We are cat people, and one of the fated perks of the neighborhood we moved into was a healthy population of stray cats cared for by a few houses on our block. Most of them were acclimated to our neighbors, who had fed them for years. Then one day, this gray lady cat shows up, walking around our street. She didn’t get along with the other cats, as she wasn’t part of the gang. She was too independent to hang around the existing gang. I actually remember the first time I saw her; I was looking out our front window as she walked the sidewalk out front. I remember noticing that she looked full-bellied and healthy, and had a long tail. I had no idea that in about 6 years I’d hold her little head in my hand as she left this world.

It was Clarisse’s (my fiancée) idea to start putting out food and water for her. I suggested the back patio since the neighborhood cats never seemed to venture back there, so I figured it was a safe place for her to linger. It ended up being her safe place for six years.

Before Clawdia became part of the family, our neighbor took Clawdia to the vet to make sure she wasn’t lost from a loving family somewhere. Her name was Claudia, and she was chipped, but to a disconnected phone number from a city 30 minutes away. And so she was returned to our street, where she started hanging out on our back patio every day. Over time, we made a lot of decisions that kept pushing Clawdia from the category of “outdoor cat we feed” to “our outdoor cat”. Such as setting up a comfy bed in the garage for her, and cutting a hole in the back door of our garage to install a little lockable cat door. 

These amenities only expanded over the years: a heated bed in the winter, her own cat tree, a litter box in the corner, her own bag of treats, an electric water fountain, even a nightlight for bedtime, and a little fan hanging from the ceiling to keep her comfortable during the hot summers. She became part of the family, getting breakfast and dinner in the garage at the same time we fed our indoor cats. She hung out with us anytime we were outside doing yard work, cleaning the garage, washing my car, etc. She was always nearby, tail up, sauntering around like the queen she was. Throwing it in the face of our indoor cats that she had the privilege of freedom, as they watched longingly from the window. 

Despite that freedom, she never, ever left. She rarely even left our property, never going further than our immediate neighbor's yard. This was her home, and she knew it. It was her kingdom, and she was our queen.

Believe me, we tried to bring her inside several times because we are advocates for keeping cats strictly indoors. But she hated our indoor cats, like she seemed to hate all other cats. She’d come inside once in a while, wander and sniff things, and as soon as she saw one of our other cats, she’d hiss and return to the back door, waiting to be let out. She always wanted to return to the freedom she was afforded as an indoor-outdoor cat, a freedom our indoor cats do not have.

After less than a year of this, we made a decision: she needed a collar and a bell. Along with our address, we of course included her existing name on her tag, Claudia, but with one edit: I decided to swap the U for a W. This was because she had this habit of swiping our ankles whenever we were walking away from her. It was her way of saying, “Hey, get back here,” when we stopped petting her. The spelling change was also my way of making her part of our family, while still honoring that she had a life before us. And thus she became our “Clawdia”.

For about 5 years, Clawdia was a full-figured, soft, beautiful lady who patrolled the perimeter of our home, keeping the neighborhood strays at bay and enjoying her space. I would fear early on that someday she’d just be gone, as outdoor cats often decide to just leave. Sometimes returning, sometimes not. Some of the other cats we had grown accustomed to on our block vanished over time, never to return. But Clawdia never left. She would often greet us in front of the house if she happened to be doing her patrol as we came home. She’d meow “hello” repeatedly and kind of jog up to us and alongside us as we walked up the brick path to our front door. But she wouldn’t follow inside; instead, she’d run around the house through the side gate and wait on the back patio. She was so smart. She was my garage buddy anytime I was out there. Working on something, smoking a joint at the end of a long day, changing the laundry, etc. Whatever it was, she was always excited to hang out and see what I was doing. 

One year, she got very sick and lost a ton of weight. Knowing she was likely around 17 by this time, I had feared this was her end nearing. But alas, it wasn’t a fatal situation. Some strong medicine, and she bounced back almost overnight. Though she never quite regained all of her lost weight, she did return to her healthy, energetic self, full of unpredictable personality. About a year after that scare, she started losing weight again, just in a different way. She was eating and drinking healthily, and still had some pep in her step. But the weight loss was gradual. She went from slender to scrawny. She had become an old, skinny lady; still full of attitude, still full of heart and affection. 

It was around this time that she started wanting to come inside the house. We’d let her walk in like we did before, but this time she’d meow angrily at our other cats and even swing at them if they got too close, but she didn’t leave over it. She kept her distance, and eventually they did too. She started eating breakfast and dinner inside with all of us, and even had a couple of favorite spots on our couch where she’d go to rest after a meal. Eventually, she’d be ready to go outside and let us know by standing by the back door, waiting patiently. That eventually turned into her not wanting to go outside for bedtime, so we started letting her sleep inside. She even stopped swinging at our other cats, instead just giving a low grumble if they passed too close to her. She just seemed to prefer being inside now, with occasional trips outside when the weather was nice. This is how I knew her end was truly near. 

Clawdia passed away from the complications of old age on Cinco de Mayo. It was the Monday after a weekend we spent together, while Clarisse was out of town for a concert with her sisters. It was one of the most beautiful and perfect weekends we could have had at this stage in her life, but also one of the most painful weekends I’ve ever experienced. And the days that have followed have been no less painful. But this isn’t about life after Clawdia, this is about life with Clawdia.

Saturday

With Clarisse having left on Friday evening, I had an open weekend ahead of me. Saturday was relatively uneventful and completely pleasant. The only hiccup was when I went to the gym that morning. Clawdia had some breakfast, but not a lot. She quickly wanted to be outside, letting me know by softly meowing at the back door. I begrudgingly let her out onto the back patio, as I had to get ready and preferred she be inside while I was gone. Even just going down those 3 steps was an arduous chore for her, so I wasn’t comfortable with her being in that state while free to leave our property on her own. 

She had always been fiercely independent, with emphasis on fiercely. But at her age, I needed to be cautious about what I allowed. So, once I had to leave for the gym, I went outside to bring her back inside. But she was nowhere to be found. I panicked, searching our property, looking at our neighbor's yards, checking the bushes, garage, etc. 

I feared that she wandered off to find a quiet, isolated place to lie down and die. The next likely fear I had was that she just wandered through a hole in the fence and got confused and lost, and I wouldn’t know where she went. Eventually, I had to follow my gut and trust that she was just making her rounds and would return shortly. And so I left for the gym, thankfully just blocks away from our home.

I kept checking the cameras in the app on my phone, every time we got 2 seconds to grab a drink of water. Eventually, at the end of class, I checked and saw her slowly meandering back onto our patio from the backyard. Who knows where she went? I was just glad that she returned safely. Looking back at this memory, I see myself standing there, sweaty in the gym with a big smile of relief on my face, as I stare down at my phone. I have no idea this will be the last time I ever see her on one of our outdoor cameras. The last time I’ll ever use our cameras to check in on her when I’m not home.

When I got home, I brought her back inside, gave her food and fresh water again, and then went out back to block any gap I could find. In her old age and weak state, I knew she couldn’t climb anything, so as long as the gaps were closed, she’d be able to wander our backyard again safely. Little did I know my efforts would only matter for a single day.

The rest of Saturday was very relaxed. I showered and went to the store. Didn’t buy much, but I did check the pet area for anything worthwhile. I grabbed a pack of puppy pads because we’ve been using those in front of the cat box for the last couple of weeks. Sometimes she’d walk into the cat box to pee and start doing her business once all four paws were in the box, but not her behind. Thus, shooting a pool of pee onto the office floor. The puppy pads made cleanup much easier. I felt like we should restock with a fresh pack. Once again, little did I know my efforts to prepare for the future would be futile.

When I got home, I opened up the windows and front door because the weather was beautiful. Clawdia sat by the front door for a bit, near two of our indoor cats whom she previously despised: Sawyer and Harvey. Over the past couple of weeks, she had learned to tolerate them more than ever before. We also have twin tabbies who are young and chubby: Luke and Leia. While Leia seemed like she couldn’t care less about Clawdia, her brother Luke would hiss at her when they passed each other. Though Clawdia didn’t seem to pay him any mind.

Lately, she’d been more tolerant of them. Eating meals inches away from them, brushing shoulders on the way to the catbox with barely an annoyed growl. We were surprised by her newfound fascination with being inside the house with us, but it also raised red flags. Cats often change up their behavior when they’re near the end, as if they know it’s coming. She seemed to want to be near us more than ever, and while it was difficult to manage at times, we tried never to put any of that stress on her. We cleaned up a lot of pee puddles and opened a lot of extra cans of food, just to keep her happy and comfortable.

Back to Saturday… I stayed home most of the day. Plans with friends had fallen through, and I was secretly thankful for it. I played some video games, I watched stuff, I did some chores, and I smoked some weed. It was a nice, basically normal feeling day. Clawdia even joined me in the garage that evening when I went out there to smoke a bowl. That had become just a way of life for me, for years, to go hang out in the garage with her. I’d be doing my own thing, and she’d be walking around my feet, climbing on the desk out there to pace in front of me for my attention. She’d reach out and try to touch my face. Anything to interact with me. 

So this Saturday, I brought her out with me and let her walk around. I picked her up and set her on the desk and snapped a few pics together, like we did so many times before. I knew she’d never be able to jump up there on her own, and that those moments between us were history now. So I wanted one last little reminder of how nice that always was for us.

Then I took her back inside and gave everyone some crunchy treats. She had eaten an entire tube of cat treat the night before, but tonight she just had a few crunchies. Her appetite was there, but dwindling. I ended up on the couch watching some old caveman movie. She lay on my chest for some of it before eventually slinking off to lie down elsewhere. I dozed off on the couch before waking up and moving to the bed. I brought her with me and set her on a cat perch that I had moved next to the bed, and then I dozed off pretty quickly.

Sunday

The next day was different, and I knew it from the start. I woke up to her on the floor by the cat tree, next to the bed. Maybe she got up with the urge to go pee and didn’t quite make it, because there was a bit of her clear and odorless pee on the cat tree and her back legs. I cleaned her up and brought her to the kitchen for breakfast. She wasn’t interested at all. Even warming up some broth and mixing different foods didn’t entice her. When I put her in front of anything, she would quickly turn her head as if disgusted by it. She wobbled to the back door, once again wanting to be left out. This time, though, her meow was noticeably weaker. It was a tiny, sad little meow that resembled nothing of the fierce, outspoken, demanding little woman she always had been. It broke my heart to hear that new noise from her.

Recognizing that this was likely another sign of her “time” being near, I let her outside and gently set her on the patio. The weather was perfect; it was sunny already but still cool, and slightly breezy. It was a perfect morning. It reminded me of so many weekend mornings before, when she was mostly our garage cat. I’d go outside first thing to let her out from the safe confines of the garage, where I could hear her meowing incessantly to be let out to seize the day. And even in this weakened, frail state, that is exactly what she set out to do: seize one more day.

I had previously made a promise to myself to be productive this Sunday. Clarisse was due back from her concert trip with her sisters tomorrow, Monday. And so I began my checklist of to-do items. I put a load of laundry in the washer, and I started walking around our home with bug spray (pet safe). While I did various outside chores, Clawdia made her rounds like she always did before. We called her the queen of our property, not just because she was the oldest cat we had, but because she took her role very seriously. She’d walk around our home, chasing off strays who lingered and then hanging around the front and back to make it known that this was her home. 

That day, she walked across the backyard at one point, headed to the hole in the fence that led to our lovely neighbors (where I assume she had disappeared to when I was at the gym before). Alas, it was blocked now, so she turned back and then lay in the grass, tired from her fruitless journey. I went and picked her up and brought her back closer to the patio. I remembered in that moment one of her funny, cute, and frustrating quirks: she loved water with a flavor. Sure, she’d drink plenty of fresh water we gave her, but if she spotted a fresh puddle or a dripping faucet, she HAD to go drink from it. She’d walk past a bowl of fresh water to go drink from a rain puddle. 

So, I turned on the hose and positioned it to hang from the faucet, just slightly pouring out. She noticed, and immediately wobbled over to it and began drinking. Water splashed the top of her head, but she didn’t care; she kept lapping it up. I used my phone to zoom in on the water droplets that were collecting on her delicate, little gray paws. One of my favorite features of hers. 

I went back to the garage to smoke a quick joint before continuing my chores (don’t judge, I needed to self-medicate to get through all of this heartache). I looked down and saw her lying on the rug by my feet! She was making her way to the front, so she was cutting through the garage, as I had opened it up on both ends. She was just taking a break on her little journey, but it was perfect because it reminded me of the countless times I’d be out there doing whatever while she hung out nearby. Eventually, though, she got her strength back and continued out the front of the garage to our front lawn. I followed to make sure she was safe. She lay down in the middle of the yard and rested in the sun for a while. I returned inside to finish a chore in the living room, which worked out because I could keep my eyes on her via the front windows while doing so. 

Eventually, I saw her crawl under the neighbor's SUV, parked in their driveway right next to our front lawn. I hurried outside to grab her, but she eluded me, slinking further under the SUV. So I texted my neighbor and let her know the situation, in case she had planned to drive somewhere soon. I returned to my chore and moments later got a text back, saying that Clawdia was now in front of their screen door. Once again, I hurried back outside to go get her. We had a chuckle, as they figured she got confused and thought that was our front screen door. They had tried to give her food and water, but she wasn’t interested; instead, she was just staring through their door like she would ours when she wanted in. I gently scooped her up and carried her back home. 

Part of me hated picking her up because she felt so different these days, like she was an articulated cat toy. Just thin fur wrapped around sharp bones. A stark contrast from the soft, healthy body of fur I had held close all those years.

I set her on the couch, on the blanket she so often would lie on near us when we’d be on the couch watching something. She lay there a while before crawling to the floor and slinking into the corner to hide. This broke my heart to see, because I knew it meant she didn’t feel good. I let her stay there a bit before gently pulling her out. The front door was still open, and the weather was still perfect, so I gently laid her down on top of a cat tree we have behind the couch, facing the front door. She didn’t move or adjust at all; she stayed where I set her down, and she was staring out the front door. I pet her and talked to her while she just gazed out the front door, not moving. 

Maybe I’m giving too much credit to the consciousness and memory of a cat at the end of their life, but I like to think she recognized Clarisse’s car parked out front. She had left with her sisters, so her car stayed behind. The way Clawdia just gazed out the door, straight across our front lawn to her car at the curb, I wonder if she recognized the color and shape. She always noticed it before, when Clarisse would pull up from work. If Clawdia were outside, she’d recognize that car and walk up to it, often meowing and escorting Clarisse up to the front door. So maybe while lying there, she thought Clarisse was home somewhere.

After a little bit, Clawdia got up on her own. I didn’t see because I had stepped outside for a moment, and when I came back inside, she was on the floor nearby. Again, seeking refuge in a dark corner beneath furniture. I gently pulled her out and was going to lay her down on our bed or something, but it occurred to me that evening was approaching and the sun would set soon. Based on how much she had declined in one day, I was sure she wouldn’t see another sunny day. So I took her out back, gently set her down on the grass, and sat with her. She sat upright and just looked around. I used my phone to film the back of her head as she looked around, as if taking it all in one last time. She even turned to me and let out a couple of very tiny, sad meows. I think those were the last meows I ever heard from her. 

After a little bit of that quiet, tender time in the gentle breeze of our backyard, I took her back inside and lay her down on our bed. She seemed exhausted. I left her to rest and went to the living room, and just sobbed. Our tuxedo cat, Harvey, jumped up on the couch and started rubbing his head on my leg, being a sweet little dude. Cats are intuitive, I know this. Harvey helped me calm down.

That night, I took her to the catbox in case she needed to pee, but she didn’t go. I tried to give her some treats and water, but she had no interest. So eventually I lay her down next to me in the bedroom, and put something on the bedroom TV as I wound down for bedtime. I must have said “goodnight, sweety, I love you” about a hundred times before I finally fell asleep. I was sure I’d wake up to find her gone already, hopefully peacefully in her sleep near me. It was one of the hardest, loneliest nights of my life. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to commiserate with, someone to just be there with me while my mind raced and my heart pounded. But I had to tough it out for the time being. 

Monday

The next morning, I awoke earlier than expected, around 7:30 AM. That’s early for me, especially after a night up late crying and smoking weed to cope. I did recall a foggy memory from sometime during the night, while it was still dark, when I heard the bell on her collar jingle, and it partially woke me up. I remember thinking, half-awake, that she must be going to try and pee or maybe wants a bite. I don’t think my half-awake brain was considering the darker possibilities of where she might be headed. So I had drifted back off to sleep.

So when I woke up that morning, I wasn’t surprised to see her not next to me anymore. I figured she had gone back to one of those dark corners to be alone. I got up, stretched, and braced myself mentally to go find my cat's body somewhere in the house. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and did my morning business as if it were any other morning. I think I was just delaying the inevitable moment that I knew would change me forever. So imagine my surprise when she wasn’t in any of those dark corners, but instead lying on the floor just on the other side of my office door. She must have gone in there to use the cat box one last time. I’m not sure if she made it, or realized she didn’t need to go and turned to leave, because she was facing the door, lying on her stomach. 

I audibly gasped and called out to her, carefully squeezing into the room and scooping her up. I said “good morning, sweety”; another thing I’d be doing for the last time. I offered her food and water, but as expected, she was not interested. I gave our other cats breakfast and then went back to bed with Clawdia, resting her on my chest like she had done so many times before. She just stared at me as I scratched her cheeks and chin, her big, glossy eyes staring back into my own glossy eyes. Hers didn’t have the same warmth and energy I had grown to love so much. 

One of my favorite things about her had been the way she would stare up at me as she reached her paw out at my face to get my attention. But now they looked tired and expressionless. I told her Clarisse would be home today, and that I’d be taking the day off work to be there with her. I’ve always talked to my cats as if they were people, filling them in on anything relevant. Doing so just further humanizes them and probably leads to greater suffering down the road, but I still do it and always will.

It was another day of beautiful weather. I made her comfortable on our bed, cracked the window a little so that the breeze could flow in, and opened the curtains so that she could see and feel sunlight. I even lit a rose candle in the room so that it would smell like she was outside, from the comfort of our bed. Then I covered most of her body with a t-shirt I had worn the day before, so that she also had a familiar smell to comfort her. It was appropriate that I’d follow one of the hardest nights of my life with one of the hardest days of my life, because that’s exactly what Monday was. 

It was a very uneventful day, otherwise. I spent it mostly pacing and fighting back tears, in between checking in on her. The painful struggle for me was trying to balance giving her quiet space to rest and pass peacefully when she was ready, while also making sure she didn’t feel alone and knew that the people who cared for her the past 6 years were there, still caring for her. Trying to balance this while constantly second-guessing myself if I was doing things right was stressful, to say the least. 

So what I would do is watch her on our bedroom camera (for checking in on things when we’re away from home). I’d stare at her lying there, watching for movement. If her head was lying down in a comfortable position, usually on its side, then I knew she was likely asleep. She would lift her head slightly and more straight when she was awake and just staring off blankly. I’d check the time stamp of the last movement detected and see how long she had been in that same position. The goal was to let her rest and only come say hi to her if she had awoken on her own. 

Every time I saw that she had recently adjusted herself, I’d peek in and say “Hey Clawdia”, and slowly approach her. She’d look right at me, with those wide, expressionless eyes. I’d give her cheek and chin a gentle scratch and kiss the top of her head. Sometimes I’d give a soft caress to that spot on a cat's back where it meets their tail, because whenever I did that before, she would perk up, as it must have felt good. Now, when I did it, I’d get a little flicker from her tail for a moment. It wasn’t much, but to me it meant that she still felt it. That maybe she still appreciated the little efforts to make her feel good in any way I could. 

Then I’d say “sweet dreams, Clawdia” and quietly leave the room. My thought process was that if this were the time she’d drift off into a nap and pass peacefully, I wanted to be sure I wished her sweet dreams before she did. I must have said sweet dreams to her like 10 times that day.

Meanwhile, Clarisse was on her way home. En route from Los Angeles with her sisters, with an ETA of 8 to 9 PM. I constantly texted my mom, asking for her advice on the things I was doing, making sure I was thinking of everything I could. She believed Clawdia may be hanging on all day to wait for Clarisse to get home. This utterly devastated me to consider. Because I knew that if Clarisse didn’t make it home in time, she would be even more crushed. It was then that I had a realization: why did I cover her with my shirt? I’ve been with her all weekend, petting her and picking her up.. She already had my scent! She needed her Mom!

I remember hurriedly rushing to the bedroom and finding a comfy t-shirt in the laundry that Clarisse would wear around the house, and I wrapped it around Clawdia to replace mine. I felt a little better because she could smell Clarisse now. I also gently moved her just a few inches from the bed, onto a little cat-shelf we have installed on one of the bedroom windows near the bed. I wanted her to be closer to the outside air, and I didn’t like the idea of her staring at nothing when she was awake. Now she could stare outside at the swaying branches and blue sky.

At about 7:30 PM, I got a text from one of the sisters that their ETA was 8:20 PM. I decided to put on a movie to pass the time, as it had felt like the longest day of my life. Just pacing and crying and trying to find random things to do to make time go by faster. I chose a random movie and got ready to get comfortable on the couch, after checking to see that Clawdia was sleeping soundly. Clarisse’s shirt draped over Clawdia’s bony body would ever so slightly rise and fall, indicating that she was still breathing. Bucky, our youngest tabby, had decided to hang out in the bedroom, surprisingly. All of the cats had mostly stayed out of the room all day, but now he was suddenly curious. He sniffed her a few times, then lay a few feet away at the foot of the bed.

I got a glass of water from the kitchen and then walked past the bedroom door, headed to the living room couch. I heard a noise, like a sneeze or a cough. I paused to peek into the bedroom to make sure everything was ok. Nothing was ok. Bucky was standing, his long neck extended in curiosity at Clawdia. She had her head tilted back, a range of movement I had not seen her attempt all day. I ran into the room in a panic and gently moved her head back into a more comfortable position, cradling it in the palm of my hand. But this was it. 

Her mouth was open, and she wasn’t looking at me like she did before when I’d come say hi to her; she was just staring straight ahead. Her legs stretched out, and one of her claws caught the window screen, like they do when they are stretching after a nap. But these weren’t stretches; they were twitches. And the noise I had heard was essentially her death rattle. Her final desperate coughs.

I panicked. I had read that seizures were a potential thing to expect, and I knew that I was not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle that. I burst into tears, repeating something desperate and frightened and probably nonsensical as I grabbed my phone and recorded her so I could get advice. But it felt wrong to be holding a phone up to her in this state, so I only got a few seconds and then immediately texted it to my mom with the words “what is happening?” She replied, “Oh, honey, her body is shutting down, so it’s going to do weird things”. I tossed my phone away, still holding her head in my other hand. 

I started gently petting her with my free hand and speaking to her softly, “It’s ok, baby, I’m here, I love you, we all love you. I’m so sorry, I love you so much, thank you so much. I’ll always love you, I’ll never forget you.” I repeated a combination of these words over and over as she let out a few more of those awful coughs and twitched a couple more times. I can hardly describe the panic and desperation I felt during these brief moments that felt like an eternity. I kept her head slightly elevated because I couldn’t stand the thought of her last images being the bottom of a window screen; I wanted her to see that green backyard that she loved so much. To hold something, someone, that you love while they die is a life experience that binds with your soul so tightly that you feel it happening as it does. And it is a very painful process.

And then she was motionless. The noises stopped, her mouth and eyes were still open, and one claw was still stuck on the window screen. I unstuck it and moved her legs into a more relaxed position, not extended. It was over. I rest my hand on her side, feeling for anything. A slight exhale, a heartbeat, anything. There was nothing. I knew she was gone. I knew that I had held her in her last moments and felt the life leave her tiny little body. A traumatic experience I knew would be with me forever. 

Now, it was just quiet, aside from the trees in the backyard rustling and the quiet hum from our bedroom air filter. I just stared at her body in shock for a bit. The silence was eventually broken by the sound of me audibly crying out. 

It was 7:40 PM. I tucked her in more with Clarisse’s shirt, I kissed her cheek and her forehead, I even tried to close her eyes, but it doesn’t work that way. With vision blurred by tears, I got up and backed out of the room, staring at her body barely visible in its thin state beneath that big grey t-shirt. Shaking, I called my mom, “She’s gone.” I could hear my mom's voice choke up as she consoled me, apologizing repeatedly that I had to go through that. But reassuring me that Clawdia was no longer in pain or discomfort. All I could think of now was how devastated I was that Clarisse didn’t make it. She was so close. Poor Clawdia had held on as long as she could.

At about 8:20 PM, right on time, Clarisse was dropped off. Breaking the news to her was a unique experience for me emotionally. On one hand, it felt slightly relieving to no longer carry the burden of this entire weekend on my shoulders alone. I had refrained from telling her anything about Clawdia’s rapid decline because I wanted Clarisse to have a fun weekend with her sisters. I knew that coming home to this was going to lead to some very dark and sad times for us. It also, of course, felt awful to tell her that she was so close to saying goodbye to our sweet old lady, Clawdia, missing her by less than an hour. 

We sat with Clawdia’s body and held each other and cried. She kept apologizing to Clawdia’s body for not being there; she kept questioning if Clawdia knew she loved her, despite not being there for her in the end. I assured her that she did. I told her that it was her shirt that kept Clawdia from being cold today. All we did was cry and pet Clawdia’s soft fur for the last time. I had gotten a box ready, lined with her favorite pink blanket, to move her body into for the time being. I even included a little Halloween mouse toy, setting it between her paws. Clawdia wasn’t much of a toy player, but I did see her bat around that mouse a couple of times when she felt feisty. 

Staring at her lifeless body in that box felt like an invisible force slowly pushing a knife into my chest and twisting it every time a better memory crossed my mind. Like all of the times I sat on our front steps with a cup of coffee while Clawdia circled my feet and rubbed her scent off on my jeans. Or the times we hung out on the back patio and she’d sit next to us, unable to sit still for long because she loved when we were both out there. Or the sound of her claws on our back door anytime we got home and didn’t immediately go out to check on her, reminding us that she was there and waiting. Or the sound of her bell jingling around the house, letting us know that she was on the move. 

Ah, yes, her collar. Faded and frayed, it had held up for years. I lifted her stiff neck to unclasp it and put it in my pocket. An item I knew would stay with us, stored away for safekeeping, for the rest of our lives. We said our goodbyes and then closed up the box. We sat with the box a bit longer before I put it away in my office closet. Safe for a day until we could take her to be cremated. 

I remember walking to the kitchen to get water and hearing a faint jingle. It was her bell in my pocket. Like a trained animal, my brain immediately reacted to the sound like I did every time before, glancing behind me to see where Clawdfia was off to now. 

It was only a split second of confusion before I reached into my pocket and gripped the collar in a tight fist as I pulled it out slowly, so it wouldn’t make a noise. I didn’t want to hear it make that jingle again, so I placed it in a kitchen drawer, safely put away for now. Sometimes I wish I could do the same with my heart. This damn thing just feels too much.

2 Weeks Later

Clawdia's ashes are in a little wooden box with her name on the side. It’s on a shelf in our living room, next to an imprint of her paws. Clarisse took her collar out of the drawer and placed it with those items on the shelf. A bit of her soft, old, gray fur is still stuck to the faded material. It’s like a little shrine to our former queen. In the garage, I took out her catbox and stored away her bowls, blankets, and other items. All except for her heated bed, which still rests on top of some bins. I look at it every time I go in there to change the laundry or find a tool. Sometimes I press my hand on the matted down material where she would curl up to keep warm. It brings me back to so many vivid memories I have with her.

I would often find myself slowing down, pausing, and focusing on simple, quiet little moments with her. Like how she’d lift her sleepy head from that bed, meow at me, and then get up and stretch before walking over to me for scratches. Like feeling the fur under her chin when I scratched it, how she would always tilt her face up and close her eyes because it felt great. Like how I’d gently touch the tops of her front paws, because they were so cute and small. Even just staring at her for a few moments while I stood in the garage, admiring the moment. Soaking it up because at every waking moment, I’m aware that someday I’ll look back at these moments and wish I could relive them. It was like I was hyper-focusing in an attempt to sort of download these moments and capture them in my memory for good. I’m glad I did, though, having such an overactive imagination can be a pain at the same time it comforts. Kind of like nostalgia.

It took me a bit before I was ready to return to my evening habit of hanging out and listening to music in the garage. But now I do, and it’s a bittersweet experience. Because while it brings me back to all of those evenings with her, the absence of her meows and jingling bell hurts my heart. Our house as a whole feels quieter these days, without her. Especially outside.

No bell, no claws on the back door, and no meows for attention. I can’t explain it, but life itself feels quieter, too. Like a little piece of me died with her. Which makes sense, considering we make our pets a part of us. We overlay human characteristics on them, and we talk to them as if they can comprehend full sentences. We hold them and kiss them and care for them more than we do most of the human people in our lives. So I think it’s only fitting that we lose a bit of ourselves with them when they leave. However, we have 5 other cats currently, so I can’t help but fear the future. I can’t help but wonder how much of ourselves we can lose before we forget who we were to begin with. But now is not the time to dwell on the inevitable darkness that awaits us in our future; instead, I should be focusing on the details of life that shine, now.

For example, Clawdia wasn’t all gray. She had a bit of beige in her coat that was more prominent when she was fluffier and healthier, and it would shine in the sun like soft gold. We’ll forever be grateful for the shine that she brought to our lives, a golden glimmer that will sparkle in our eyes every time we think of her. One that doesn’t need sunlight to shine, just a fond memory on even the darkest of days, when that light is needed most.

Thank you, Clawdia. I’ll see you again someday.