I am scattered this morning, emotionally drained and lost on a sea of despair. Some people would shake me and say “For Pete’s Sake MA- it was ONLY a cat!” But those are the people I have little time for- the ones who think that a cat is an object, something to be thought about casually if at all. Trivial, some would say- a cat doesn’t matter- but they would be wrong.

Fiona did not have an easy life. I can’t imagine what it was like for that terrified kitten to be stuck inside a birdcage outside on the porch for days and nights on end. Did the bird hoarder even bother to cover the cage at night? I don’t know but from what I was told when the kitten was rescued- the cage was in a hideous state. It took no less than 7 gentle, warm baths for this cat’s true calico pattern to emerge. She was rescued in 2004 and stayed with one rescuer until 2006 when she arrived here.

Fiona was a character. She never could eat anything on the floor and even her litter pan was elevated. We have an old shower stall stored out in the porch and her food and water and litter pan were on top of that stall. Eight feet up a definite bother for me as I am not eight feet tall- but she seemed to prefer that, perhaps because her early home hung so high in the air. The first rescuer when she called me about Fiona was fit to be tied- “The darn cat won’t eat- poops all over the floor- I don’t want her anymore come and get her!” No, I have no kind thoughts about this “rescuer” anymore.

It took me a few days of watching her to figure her out. She simply liked heights although she was not an Alpha kitty. If Riley or Norton even dared to approach her, she would roll over on her back in a submissive position as if to say “I give up.”

Once I elevated her food, water and litter pans her anxiety lessened.

She knew when I was having bad days just as I knew when she was having one of her moments. We were entwined somehow, interconnected and she would crawl on my lap and purr away my worries or nuzzle my neck and show me that all would be okay.

Then the vigourous head-shaking began and I explored her ears along with the vet, looking for ear mites, yeast infection, spider bites. Nothing ever came of that search. Instead, after a few days after one visit tiny red blisters seemed to appear out of nowhere, marching across the ridge of her ear. Worried, I watched them, washed them off put soothing lotion on them. This seemed to anger them and they got bigger and more threatening. Another trip to the vet and a biopsy revealed she had squamous cell carcinoma. Plans were made to remove them before they spread. Before they spread? I wondered remembering how quickly two lesions turned into several and the head shaking increased to almost a frantic pace.

After surgery and she was home, she laid in my lap spent and exhausted and puzzled as to what happened. The vet said he was crossing his fingers- he too was exhausted, it was a long surgery for all of us.

Three years passed and daily checks of her ears showed no blisters or abnormalities. Just as I was starting to breathe again- she came to me one night crying. She was tipping her head and scratching madly at her ear. My heart sank and I grabbed the flashlight only to see the lesions were back.

Calling my vet, he said, let’s just wait a bit. I had lost a few recently and he was reluctant for me to go through the process. He was also hoping that I wouldn’t have to.

But this morning, as the fluid that takes life and brings peace found its way into her veins- I held her and I cried. Her passing was gentle- her ears still angry over the war waged on them stopped bleeding and her heart was stilled.

She is a bird again- she has flown up to heaven on calico wings.

As I wept, I wondered why I love these cats so? They depend on us for so much and yet, that just makes most of fall even deeper into love and respect. It’s a symbiotic relationship. We both need each other and I adored her.

So I have lost my calico anchor, my smile in the morning as she greeted me first thing for her favorite place to sleep was on my pillow. I still haven’t taken down her food bowl and water dish. I usher cats through life and often this place turns into a transit station where they rest between their final destination. I know she is gone, but my arms won’t raise high enough above my head to remove the final traces of this kitty born in a bird cage-perhaps in time…