HE CREPT INTO MY LIFE on soft grey paws, an orphaned kitten; skinny, hungry and looking for affection. That first couple of days he crawled all over me while I sat at my office desk, or when we went home. Clearly, he was happy to have a person of his own.
My son loved him and named him Smokey, which described him perfectly as he was the color of deep smoke rising from the fire. I suppose RavenHawk was about 7 or 8 then -- time has a way of blurring details of the past.
Our life as a family was a pretty happy one, once Smokey settled in. He was curious, as cats are wont to be, and he wanted to be around, though eventually he determined that it was perfectly ok to pet him, but he certainly didn't want to be held. RavenHawk learned his favorite scratching place was under the chin and we all gave him plenty of those kinds of scratches.
The years flew by, and our lives changed. My marriage, to Raven's dad, hadn't been good for quite a while and we grew further apart. I met someone who I ended up falling in love with, and eventually marrying... Smokey came along with me after a brief struggle as to who would hold ownership.
A creature of very set habit, Smokey didn't like his new home at first. He found a hidey-hole behind the laundry, and stayed there for a few weeks, only sneaking out occasionally. Eventually, though, he got comfy with his new surroundings. Then, the unthinkable - a new cat, yet another foundling, joined the household. She was the boss, and swiftly let Smokey know it. His home for a year was the room we used as an office; his litter box and food were in there and he dared not step beyond the door.
At last that feline relationship stabilized to one of uneasy truce, and Smokey grew brave, coming out more and more often, until he felt comfortable enough to rejoin the rest of us and live in the whole house. Frosty, the interloper, never let him forget she was superior, though, and regularly served up her punishment for his transgression of living in her space.
RavenHawk finished high school and after a few uneasy months moved north to live with his grandmother. I think Smokey missed him early on, he'd spend time in the room Raven had called his own quite a bit.
More years passed, and we were a comfortable family. He was always happy when I sat down at my desk in the morning, or when we came home if we'd been out. I presumed he still had a number of years left, and guess it's been about 16 years since the orphan came home with me that first day.
Aways a healthy cat, last week we were surprised when Smokey started to walk a bit oddly, and then stopped eating. Each day his balance seemed worse, and he withdrew from his regular daily routine -- jumping up on my desk for treats, onto the bathroom sink for fresh water and spending lots of time at the food bowl. Early this week his balance was clearly disturbed, and he walked less and less.
Yesterday, after a day of no water and no movement, as he simply seemed unable to walk at all, he was a shadow of his former self. He allowed me to hold him, and carry him about without complaint. In the evening he had a horrible seizure, and we knew the end was near.
I spent the last hour or so of his life on the floor sitting next to him, stroking him and talking with him. He seemed as peaceful as one could be who was so near death's door -- indeed, whether he knew the end was near or not we'll never know. Suddenly, he took some deep, shuddering breaths, and his feet twitched slightly as I scratched his head. Then, his side rose no more... the end had come, the last breath had been taken. I waited a few minutes to confirm the truth my eyes denied before I said something to my husband.
Many of us anthropomorphize our animals, assigning them human traits just because it is our understanding of feeling and emotion, and we think our pets have feelings and emotions as well. I like to think that Smokey was comforted in that last hour, and that he knew how much I, and Mikal, loved him, my "handsome boy," as I so affectionately called him. I wish Raven could have been there too, to say his goodbyes.
This morning he was sent on his next journey which began deep in our garden, nourished by the treats we buried with him to send him on his way. I was touched by my husband's suggestion that we give him food for the long journey to places unknown that he had started upon. We both were in tears, saying goodbye.
My beliefs tell me Smokey and I will cross paths again, one day. I hope it is so. I know I'll look for signs of him in each fuzzy, fat grey cat whose path I cross.
I miss you already, my handsome boy, and I love you.
