Pussywillows and Sweet Peas

    

I woke up at 3:30 this morning because my arms felt so empty it made me cry.  There's a little circle of space next to my chest where my cat used to lay.

Cami, my silver Maine Coon, would arrive around this time each day, perching on my pillow.  First she would knead my pillow, then mix it up by catching -- quite by accident, of course -- my head and shoulders with those taloned toes.  Once I was roused from sleep, she pointed one silver paw toward the precise spot next to me.  This was her point of entry.  It was tradition.  It was comical, really, the way her long, Maine Coon arm would stretch out straight, with deliberate direction, toward the exact location.  If laying on my side, which is how I sleep about half the time, I lifted the covers for her to walk inside.  She would walk in without hesitation, then turn around and recline next to me, her back up against my chest, both her arms extended to rest along my one arm, head on my pillow.  With my other arm, I'd then either encircle her body, tail to belly or just bend it up and over her in an embrace.

The pinnacle of these sleepy, blissful moments was when I laid my head on the pillow next to hers and buried my face in her soft silver fur, feeling the vibration of her double purr against my face.  The sweet music of her joy resonated into my chest.  Inhale, high purr, exhale, low purr and again and again.  What a serene and soothing sound.  Sometimes she would wrap one arm around my arm, as if to tell me, "Please stay. I need you."  I'd kiss her and whisper how much I loved her, my little sweet pea, my darling little Camielle, my baby girl.

And that's just what she was because I have no children.  Cami was the first cat who needed me, loved me, sought me out, gave me affection up-close and personal.  She will always be my baby girl.  We connected right from the start, like two peas in a pod.

And then, about a month ago, she was diagnosed with a laryngeal tumor, most likely Squamous Cell Sarcoma.  After a few weeks of the least traumatic treatment available, we made the decision to end her suffering.  She had dropped in weight from 11 to 8.5 lbs, was no longer eating, playing and her breathing was labored.  The Prednizone only helped for a limited time.  Thankfully it gave us a few extra better days with her.  But it's so unfair to lose a cat at a mere eight years of age. Much, much too young to lose one's furbaby.

The raw, painful space that Cami left in me is terrifyingly empty.  Oh how I loved her.  It feels as if no one will ever need me that way again.  It's a desperate longing so akin to hunger.  It's physical.  I starve for that silver baby in my arms.  I wonder how I will survive this loss, though know that many have before me.  And losing my own mother to Cancer many years ago, I am well aware of my own strength to survive such immense pain and loss.  But the pain never goes away; some days it's as raw as ever.

Though at times it feels unbearable to miss those we loved and lost, I have asked myself this question and am comforted by my own answer... if someone could erase all memory of either of them and all the pain along with it, what would I say?  No.  Those memories are beautiful and beloved, and I honor both of them by remembering.

This weekend we planted a Giant Pussywillow tree in our front yard.  I know that in the spring there will be lovely, silver fur buds on all the branches, and I will think of Cami.  I'll pick one off and kiss it, feeling the silkiness of fur against my lips.  It will be my Cami tree.  I also planted Sweet Peas on her grave; what better flower to put there next to the sweet pea that snuggled so deeply into my heart.

Cami was delicate like a sweet pea, and like the flower, she always surprised us with her multi-colored personality.

She proud pony marched, long plume tail held high, across the house with a feather baby in her mouth. Its attached string and rod trailed several feet behind her until she deposited the feather in her dish.  She mouthed it occasionally as she nibbled on her dry food.  It gave her comfort somehow and made the food taste better.

Cami loved to hide behind translucent silk curtains and jump out at passersby for a feigned feline attack.

When David and I watched TV in the living room, we always felt her eyes upon us as she reclined on the very top of the cat tree or on top of the entertainment center.  All the while she kept her gaze on my face, her mouth turned up at the corners in a grin.  We liked to say she was keeping on eye on her "peoples."

Water was a magnetic attraction for Cami.  She had a great affinity for any running water or contraptions that produced it.  Most evenings, as I prepared for bed, she visited me in the bathroom, stretching up against the shower door, meowing for entry.  I would sometimes slide it open and turn the faucet on to just a thin stream.  In a few seconds she'd jump up onto the ledge, duck her head under the tap and lick the falling water with delight.

And then there were her adorable mee-yawns.  She was very vocal, meowing on a regular basis for love, treats, dinner, attention, you name it.   And thus, often, we'd catch her meowing, only to have it interrupted mid-meow by a sudden yawn.  It truly sounded like "meeee-yawwww," and ended in a sweet high note that melted your heart.  She always had that surprised look on her face at the unintentional interruption in what would have most likely been a fascinating Cami monologue.

I loved the way she reclined in a chair with her long arms stretched out, oh so long if you've ever seen a leggy Maine Coon cat, and then endearingly crossed at the wrists.

She would sit at any number of windows, chattering at birds and other critters in that funny staccato way, her darling tufted ears alert and radar-aimed in their direction.

Cami was skillfully adept at determining which pair of clothing you intended to wear for the workday.  Even after laying out several items of decoy clothing on the bed, she still managed to choose and lounge on the very garment that you planned to wear.  Conspiracy theories did come to mind.  She didn't want us to go to work so many impediments to that end seemed to creep up in our paths whenever she was near.

Anything partially hidden stirred in Cami an uncontrollable urge to oust it from it's hiding place.  A Q-tip tucked under a rug or door, a stray sock peeking out from under the laundry basket, a paw of one of the other cats overhanging the cat tree -- all were pounced upon and with the wildness of a jungle cat.

If there was a lap to be had, she was in it.  If the path to your lap was blocked by reading material or other unwanted objects, she'd make her request known with petulant baby meows.  Once said lap was claimed, she took her time kneading it, giving it biscuits, to make it just the right texture.  Sometimes this meant, depending on her last trim, being stabbed for a few minutes.  But the  puncture wounds were so worth it because she'd also lean up against your chest and rub your chin with her cheek, purring with energetic vigor.  Then she'd plop down, bend her long body into the tiniest, compact circle, wrap her long tail around her body, tuck her paws up under her chin and sleep.  And for the first few minutes, she'd lift her head to peer up at me, just gazing into my eyes, and the message was absolute -- I love you.  Then she'd purr and purr until falling into a silent deep sleep.  Though captive and captivated by this adorable circle of silver fur in my lap, I loved these moments with her.

Cami was named after Camielle, the archangel of divine love.  I adopted her on Valentine's Day. It was apropos.  She brought so much love into this house to both David and I, as well as the other cats.   She rubbed up against our big curmudgeon Razz, whether he liked it or not.  And she eagerly played games of chase and hide and seek with Fhinnian.

How does such a bundle of silver crawl so assertively into your heart, burrowed there so tightly, that once she is gone, it feels expanded fuller than ever before but empty, oh so dreadfully empty?

I love you, Cami, wherever you are.  And thank you for being my silver baby, my little girl, my sweet pea.

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