Life of the Lintee Bean

I love all my cats, past and present. I have to admit, though, two of them are a bit special to me. I don’t love them any more than the others, but there’s just this particular feeling about those two. I suspect it’s because I didn’t adopt these two cats because they needed me (unlike the others), but because, in a way, I needed them. Adopting them just seemed to complete my life and my home. A shelter staff member once laughed at the first two I’d chosen from their organization, these two, saying they were the “yin and yang” of the shelter. I often said it was as though they were my heart and my soul: Afer my heart, so brave and strong, slightly elusive, expressing pure joy at the simple pleasures of being petted or brushed, a bit of cheese or sour cream from my plate… Omaha my soul, so smart and loyal, hardened by life yet so protective of those he loved, distrusting and willing to fight to the end for what he wanted (or didn’t want), ready to do whatever he wanted or needed to do despite any obstacles faced…

I adopted Omaha in February of 2003, and Afer in January of 2004. Neither were young nor healthy, but I found I couldn’t let that stop me. Omaha was about 13 years old and morbidly obese with severe arthritis and hip injuries. Afer was about 16 years old and had a severe heart murmur and bloody diarrhea, kidney disease, and anemia. We had glorious times. We played, we cuddled (though Afer always maintained a proper distance), we indulged in treats and sunbeams…

We’ve had a few scares with Afer – fluid buildup in her chest in 2006 and a vestibular episode in 2007. Both times, she surprised the vets and I with her rapid recovery. When she got ill this September, I worried, but became convinced she would rally once again. However, it wasn’t to be. She got ill again and a trip to the vet showed new fluid buildup in her chest. They were able to drain the fluids and change her medications, but only three days later it was back.

I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to let her go. I was sorely tempted to ask the vet to drain it once more, increase the medications, buy us more time. Afer was smarter than I, as always. Despite her labored breathing, she purred and head-butted and looked up at me with those amazing green eyes, and I just knew she was thinking “I’ll stay with you, if I must, but I really am anxious to start this new journey. I’m ready to be free.”

I wept while I petted her that last time, her fur soggy with my tears, but in the end a calm came over me. When she left, it wasn’t as though she was gone forever, but almost as though she’d left me to go somewhere else. Like she was staying with friends. She left in a baby blue blanket decorated with bunnies, and she looked proud and happy and brave.

I cry as I write this, and I wish my little girl’s time with me wasn’t over, but I know she felt her journey here was complete, While there’s a huge hole in my heart and I ache and frequently burst into sobs…
I’d rather experience this pain knowing I had the great honor of sharing my home with this incredible being for a short time, than never to have had the joy she brought.

Fly free, precious angel.