Ode to Lily, A Black Cat Who Went to Heaven
For most of her sixteen years, soon after first light, Lily kept a watch outside my bedroom, waiting for me to open the door. When I came out, she watched over my short detour into the bathroom, then escorted me down the hall. I won’t ever forget her glancing up at me and then down at my bare feet, making sure I stayed on the right path to the kitchen and her breakfast. The first day she wasn’t there to greet me, our other cat, Ricky, seemed baffled, looking over his shoulder, expecting her to stride into the kitchen at any moment. She wouldn’t. The previous night, the vet, trying to be gentle, said to me that Lily was now in cat heaven.
The vet’s pronouncement reminded me that it was Elizabeth Coatsworth’s book, The Cat Who Went to Heaven, that turned my two kids into cat lovers. After reading the book, they created comic strips featuring superhero cats and ninja kittens, chronicling their adventures against robbers and crooks, with the not so subtle message to mom and dad that they wanted a cat.
My wife and I relented, getting Lily once we had gotten through the challenges of starting their schooling, and not long after they lost their maternal grandmother. Perhaps, we thought, a cat would help them deal with the grief. But mostly it was their love for Good Fortune, the cat from Coatsworth’s book, that sealed the deal. The book made a strong impression on them. My son, the younger of the two, sobbed over Good Fortune’s fate every time we read the book.
We welcomed Lily home with an outpouring of love. Lily was a rescue cat, so we knew little about her past. She was tiny and skittish. She resembled a Bombay cat, solid black, nose to tail, with green eyes. Fully grown, she was still a small cat, but she was extremely protective of her territory. Her post was near the front door, perched on the back of the armchair, swiping at any visitor who didn’t meet her approval. She especially disliked men, my friends quickly learning to wear long pants even in the summer when visiting.
When my son and his best friend played ro-sham-bo, the loser had to pet Lily. In one of her most aggressive moves, she got her claw stuck just in the eyebrow of one of my daughter’s friends. Fortunately, I disentangled them with no harm, but that incident was too close to calamity. Soon after, I bought a clipper for her claws, a dangerous manicure requiring the help of my daughter, who held her gently by her scruff to get her to relax.
Lily was the queen of the apartment for about eight years. Her world changed when my kids, by then teenagers, snuck into the house a second cat, hiding him in their bedroom until it was not fair to throw him out. This was Ricky Ricardo, a white and gray tabby who would grow up to be a much larger cat, but also much friendlier than Lily. His sweet disposition contrasted with his willingness to tussle with Lily when challenged, which was often. He used his size advantage to pin down Lily, often leaving a trail of her black fur all over the floor.
As our cats got older, I eventually inherited all the cat chores, the feedings, the litter cleanings, the trips to Petco for supplies, and the visits to the vet in a foldable orange box they had given me for transport. Because my wife is mildly allergic to cats, I was their only human touch after the kids moved out to college. Whichever cat got to my lap first would get the purring spot. That I fed them every morning made me their best friend. They both appreciated that I never posted a single picture of them on social media.
Lily mellowed out with age. She even learned to vocalize late in life. We had assumed she was mute, then one day, she let out a scratchy meow that she would eventually perfect — maybe that’s why no one says, ‘you can’t teach an old cat new tricks.’ My theory is she learned from Ricky, a loud yapper when hungry. You’d think he hadn’t been fed for weeks, given the ferocity of his pleading.
Lily was indifferent to our world most of the time. She didn’t exist for us, living in her own umwelt, a cool German word for the world an animal perceives. She could be withdrawn, unpredictable, and lazy. She favored routines; her bowl was always on the left and filled first. She liked to knead on my belly, reminding me I was getting soft and should workout more.
There had been hints that Lily wasn’t feeling right. She had been wobbly for a couple of days, but that afternoon, she started moving around erratically. Her hind legs were experiencing issues, that was clear. Eventually, she laid down in the kitchen, where we started a vigil, wondering if she would get better.
The Buddha and Buddhism play a large role in the story of Good Fortune, the cat in Coatsworth’s book. Coincidentally, when Lily got sick, I was reading a Buddhism-based book that I had recently received from my fifth-grade teacher, Mr. James Baraz, with whom I had recently reconnected, some fifty years after our class. I let him know I remembered him fondly and that he had been a key influence in my youth. He told me he was still teaching, leading Buddhist meditations at Spirit Rock, a meditation center in California he helped found. After our conversation, he sent me his book, Awakening Joy: 10 Steps to Happiness. I was on step four, “Finding Joy in Difficult Times,” which I considered a perfect chapter for 2020, the pandemic year. Instead, it offered a salve for the immediate situation at home with our Lily. I found joy as I witnessed my children comforting and soothing Lily as she struggled to stay upright, their compassion and love rising from the kitchen floor. They were more than ready to escort her down her path to heaven.
I rebuilt the orange transport box while my kids said good-bye. We placed a towel, and then Lily inside. She gathered her strength for a brief protest before settling down during the walk to the vet, which I did alone because of the pandemic restrictions — only one person was permitted inside. In the consultation room, the vet made sure Lily didn’t suffer. He placed his stethoscope on her black fur, moving it slightly around her chest before looking up and letting me know that Lily was in heaven.
She was now ready to tussle with Good Fortune.
(Monday, August 31, 2020.)
For a listing of my writings on Medium, see medium.com/matiz
