My cat, Mia, died early this morning. Actually, I should say my son's
cat. She was born in my house, to Mufasa, a very wise and beautiful
cat who died a few years ago. My son fell in love with her the moment
he saw her, as a kitten, and he took her off with him to Dartmouth
while he was getting his PhD. She was, of course, our best educated cat.
My other son, Noah, described her:
"She was pale rainbow coloured; serious, intelligent, loved children,
always ate first and smacked any one who got in the way, and then
cuddled them. She nursed other mother's babies and was a wonderful
midwife - took over nursing and mother care when any other mother got
tired of it. She looked down on other cats as not as intelligent, and
yet took great care of Athena - her not so bright and quite klutzy,
but good hearted, girl - she loved her."
I have learned so much from my animals. Mia was the matriarch, and
truly an amazing one,. She watched and took care of everyone - was
the first one to jump into the birthing box to clean and help the new
mother, and the new babies. She took care of the ones who needed extra care.
When I would go outside every morning, all the cats would come out -
the young ones would go charging off - chasing each other and the
butterflies and bugs. The older guys would go sun themselves, or go
for a long walk to survey the territory. Mia would come over to me to
be picked up - and she'd sit and cuddle with me for a while - not
leaving until suddenly two kittens would run off and get under my car
- and she'd jump down to go and check on whether they were all okay -
to make sure they didn't get themselves into trouble.
So, this morning, I went out - in tears, mourning my little morning
girl - missing her presence, knowing she'd never be there again -
wondering if there'd ever be another to be there with me in the
mornings. Next thing, Salome, one of her gorgeous 8 month old
granddaghters, jumped up to sit on my lap and rub against my face.
Then came Osiris - who sat for quite a while - a very serious fellow
- he inherited his mother's serious genes - who adores me - thinks he
owns me. (which he does... but they all do...). He's my "adult" male
cat - same age as others, but more serious. Finally, came Venus
Serafina Lovey - a golden beauty who has so many names because as
soon as we think we've found the right one - it doesn't fit. She is
the most loving cat we've ever had - 8 months old - arms around the
neck, pats, eye gazing - and yet, despite all that, not intrusive.
Just takes it for granted that she loves us, we love her. If only all
human beings could be so secure.
So...I guess they knew. We think Mia had a stroke. We found her
almost dead, and very cold. Warmed her up, and she died in her sleep
being held. I've never seen someone dead so peaceful - doesn't look
as though she's died - which is disturbing. I want to do the magic
thing which will bring her back.
We just buried her. All the cats outside came to participate. Mercury
saw what had happened, and said goodbye to her, and sat by the hole
with his back to it while Noah filled it. Lovey helped to cover up
with dirt. Zarathustra, Rosie, Yuma, Wolfie, Salome, all watched.
I don't like death. I'm with Dylan Thomas, "Old age should rage,
rage, against the dying of the light".
Strangely, her father, my other son, arrived back in this country
last night - just after she had her stroke, and before she had died.
We talked...and he told us what to do.
So much sadness.
The photo is of Mia at Dartmouth. :))