My Cat’s Last Act Was to Give Approval to My Future Husband

Why did she fight so hard to stay with me?

When I no longer needed to travel for my job, my first thought was, “Great! Now I can finally get a cat.”

I knew exactly what I was looking for in a cat. I wanted an adult female cat. When I went to the cat adopt-a-thon to select a cat, they had two orange tabbies. I took one look at the 7-month-old male kitten, and we immediately bonded. I held him in my arms, and he stared into my eyes, purring.

“Is that what you wanted in a cat?” my friend asked.

“No, but he’s purring.”

“Start the paperwork,” she told the adoption volunteer.

He disappeared completely when he arrived at my home, like he’d turned himself invisible. But it was only a few days before he trusted me enough to pet him and brush him.

He rolled over to have his tummy brushed, and I discovered, this was not now and never had been a boy cat. This actually was the 1-year-old female cat. She was just so much smaller than the other orange tabby, the adoption volunteers assumed she was the kitten. She weighed only 7 pounds when I got her.

Over the next 13 years, we became inseparable. She slept on my pillow. I learned to touch-type on the unseen keyboard underneath my desk, so that she could sit in my lap while I was writing. She liked to stretch out from my knees to my hips while I lounged on the couch, reading or watching TV. (Most shows didn’t interest her, but she loved Early Edition, and would get very excited whenever the magical cat came on.)

I drove the 3 hours to my parents’ house about once a month, and she always accompanied me, in her soft-sided Sherpa bag. Once we were in the car, I’d unzip the front flap. She’d relax in her carrier on the front seat, with just the tips of her paws sticking out. She knew our exact route, and if road construction or congestion caused us to take a different exit, she’d get very agitated until we got back onto the “right” road.

Then, in 2007, she started exhibiting mysterious symptoms. She was fine when I left for work. But when I got home, after the cleaning lady had been there, she was lying on the floor in a pool of vomit.

I took her to the vet, who gave her fluids and vitamins, and she seemed fine. But then, the next time the cleaning lady visited, again, terribly sick cat.

I checked with the cleaning service to make sure they hadn’t switched cleaning products. They weren’t leaving open containers of things out that she might get into. Were they cleaning the range with something caustic that might drip into her food bowl? Nothing.

Then the news broke about tainted pet food from China. The cleaning lady had been bribing the cat to stay out of the kitchen while she cleaned. The bribes were one of the brands of toxic kibble. Because my cat only had a few pieces each time, she wasn’t one of the thousands of pets who died. But her kidneys were damaged.

The vet gave me instructions for how to care for her to minimize strain on her kidneys. There were more close calls, but every time, she rallied. The last two times, the vet didn’t expect her to make it. Although her health was gradually deteriorating, she kept fighting. She wouldn’t leave me.

Then, I met my future husband. We met online, and after many phone calls and a “neutral location” first date, he finally came out for a visit. He’d been hesitant about dating someone with a cat, because he had cat allergies. But when he met her, he fell completely in love, just as I had. The last obstacle to our relationship melted away.

They spent many hours on the couch together, with her lying on his chest, purring, staring deeply into his eyes. When it was time for him to leave, he jokingly threatened to pack her in his carry-on to take back with him.

Instead, she consoled me as I returned from the airport to the suddenly empty house. We sat on the couch watching TV together. She fell asleep, and I tiptoed off to bed, not wanting to wake her.

When I woke up in the morning, she was not on my pillow. She heard me moving and starting crying. I found her in the living room, dragging her back legs.

I rushed her to the vet, who said she’d had a stroke. The vet gave her a relaxant, to minimize her pain and agitation. Three breaths later, she was gone. She’d used up all of her fight. She was just waiting until she knew someone would share my pillow after she was gone.

My husband and I have been married for 12 years now, and every day he proves his love and devotion. My cat chose well.

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