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A Death in the Family

© Katherine E. Rabenau

I'm not going to write about agoraphobia this week. This past Monday (October 13th) at 7:00 pm, Abigail, my sweet and gentle 4-legged friend of 21 years and 5 months took her leave of this life. My nieces and nephews - who are my remaining human relations - live far away, and since I live alone, Miss Abigail - also known as The Ancient One and the Wonder Kitty - was my family. She was my friend and my child and the focus of much of my energy and attention. It is strange not to reach over next to me as I type and touch her soft grey body and it is strange that she is not howling at me with profound aggravation as I type this. She liked to have dinner at about this time of day and she was no longer able to get down the stairs without help. Keeping me in line was no small task but she had a strong stubborn streak that served her well in human control as well as simple survival.

I want to share a little bit about Abby's death. It was a beautiful and serene passing. I guess this is one of the rare instances in which I can be grateful for my agoraphobia. If I were not so limited in my ability to go from place to place, I would probably have raced Abby off to the vet and had her euthanised because I wanted to protect her from suffering, because, if I am honest, I wanted to protect myself from suffering. The Universe, in its infinite wisdom didn't allow me to do that. Originally I had found someone to go with me to the vet but she backed out at the last minute. Then I called a cab - an outrageously expensive adventure in this part of the world - but the cab never showed up. Then I tried to get someone to come to the house. By the time that didn't work out, I had begun to realize that Abby was meant to end her days at her own pace and in her own time and here at home. I am so grateful for that gift.

In human equivalent years, Abby was about 102 years old. She had gotten pretty wobbly in the past year or so. She fell down a lot, but she always got up. She could no longer go down the stairs (she tended to fall down them and she was smart enough to know that wasn't a good idea), but she could until about ten days before her death come up them. It was work, but she did it. Her worst problem, health wise, was some difficulty pooping. She was a tough old kitty. In her young years, until she was about 15, she was a very shy, quiet kitty. Not long before her buddy Katrina died, Abby discovered her voice and she made up for lost time. She didn't just talk, she bellowed. I called her Mini-Moose because she put her whole body into the process. (If you have ever seen footage - I don't know why I have, but I have - of a male moose in mating season you will understand the reference.) She also stopped being shy. And she never hesitated to tell me very clearly what she wanted from me, usually in a very loud and unrelenting voice. Being a bit stubborn myself, this sometimes led to battles of will in which even if I wanted to do what she was being so bratty about, I would make her wait just to avoid being bullied. She loved me anyway. Silly girl.

Isn't she beautiful?	June 2003, covered with squash	April 2003	Giving me a piece of her mind	This is the best blanket in the world
Abby, age 19 in Arizona

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