Once upon a time, I got a kitten.

I was impossibly young, and living with my first love.

I wanted, he indulged, and we ended up with this tiny bit of fluff who lived on my shoulder and pushed her cold nose in my ear with small purrs.

I called her Maggie.

This isn't a story about Maggie.

When Maggie was about 5 years old, there was tragedy. We'd had another cat and he died. Maggie, from loss, tried to join him. I didn't know cats could care so much. Could be so lonely that they would sit in a corner, uneating, ungroomed. Breaking my heart with her broken spirit.

My ex and I decided to get her another partner. Somehow, we ended up with this big, fat, silvery thing with more names than I can remember. He didn't like people much. He liked food. He didn't care for being held, although he'd suffer a pat if you bent down to bestow it.

And? He adored Maggie.

Somewhere along the way, he became Zazzoo. My ex left them both with me when we finally parted - almost a decade of water under our bridge. You have to take them both. They're a set, he said.

So I suffered Zazzoo for love of Maggie.

It was the three of us for a long while, and I grew more accustomed to his face. We declared peace and stayed out of each other's way.

Then, CD. He was spending a weekend, some months into this fling of ours, I remember him yelping. A manly yelp, sure.

"You have another....cat?"

"Didn't I mention that?" 600 square feet of apartment, I'd been certain he'd noticed before.

It was when Bear was born that Zazzoo became real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, Zazzoo melted for love of our baby. He was boneless, clawless, completely dear to our own baby boy.

We were all, the four of us, suprised how that worked out.

No longer just Maggie's bitch, he truly liked being around Bear. Would skulk over and keep an eye on him. Offer his thick fur for a touch.

We always figured that we'd be stuck with this strange little beast of a cat until the end of time. He seemed sturdy and endless. I'd tease him, that when Maggie went - hey, he could consider his own clock punched.

He'd give me a swish of his tail and march away.

I'm clearly not that frightening.

It's taken a day to notice, since we came home. Because he'd hidden himself away in the cellar. But when he didn't come up for food tonight, we knew. Found him curled up in an old rag pile, listless and breathing slowly with effort.

Oh, I thought. Oh, I think he's dying.

And Bear, seeing it on my face, began to cry.

CD and I locked eyes, and the sadness came in waves. How easy to forget the math, but he must be 19 or 20, now. He was middle-aged, they said, when we adopted him and that was 13 years ago.

A lifetime, really.

We carried him upstairs, to a bed of towels. Bear and CD and I talked about our years with him. And how sad it is when we ask animals to be our companions that we do it knowing that their walk will be shorter than ours, and we'll be left behind when they float away.

Now they two have gone to bed while I keep vigil with my old companion, Zazzoo. He's resting, comfortably. Maggie is nearby, licking him ever so often.

I've told him I will stay up with him as long as he wants. And that if it's time for him to leave he knows I will take good care of his beloveds, of his little Maggie and of his bouncy copper boy.

And I told him, too, that if he'd like to stay with us awhile longer, that would be fine.

He looks at me, and huffs a bit. And knows that he was always welcome here. That he still is.

And I look at him, and sigh a bit. And think, how I will miss him. And try not to get him too wet with my tears.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:54 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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