Quigley

It happened on December 13. Just three days ago.
We never would have guessed it would happen so soon.
Quigley, our dearest little gray kitten, passed away as I saw my first snowfall this year. He was not even five months old yet.

He had an incurable disease. We're not sure exactly which one it was, it was one of two fatal diseases, but we had no idea. Apparently it was hereditary. His little kidneys were taking up far too much room in his tiny tummy, a tummy that I adored from day one for it's silver and white smooth fur and bright black dots. He would have starved to death, and felt much pain before dying in a few days, so we made the choice to put him to sleep before the disease took him on a more painful journey.

But dear god, we had no idea, even when the facts must have been right in front of our faces... he hadn't grown much at all. He was thin, and still so small at 5 months when he should have been plump and round. In the last two weeks before that night of the 13th, we had noticed he was rather sick, but we thought it was a cold. Something that a batch of antibiotics and a few nights' sleep would cure. Even when we took him to the veterinarian's office, we had no idea that we'd be carrying home the cat carrier without him.

Because he was still so loving. Even while he must have been feeling so weak, he still ran to the door like a puppy when we came home. He would jump on the bed, a high high bed, if we called for him. He liked to be carried around all the time and would cry if we left. We figured that sick cats, really sick cats, just hid all the time. We didn't know that he waned to spend the last days with us, to make the most of the short short time he had left...

Quigley was a special cat. When we got him, he was so happy to be out of the small cage teeming with other cats that he pranced about for hours on his skinny little legs. At that point, his eyes were bright and happy. He played for hours every day. He loved a dog toy best of all, a toy that was larger than he was. He'd wrestle with it on the bed, and if we tossed it off, he'd go fetch it and come dragging it back up. He liked being in my shirt and being with me all day, no matter where I was. He squeaked so cutely, and ate voraciously. He loved everyone who came the moment he saw them, and everyone loved him...

He was the dearest cat in the world, and I wish I could have seen him grow up to be a cat. I wish we could have had years together, where I could have really gotten to know his personality. I want him to have been so big he'd make my arms ache when I held him, and for him to annoy me in the kitchen all day long, begging for attention or treats. That'll never happen now, and I know it.

I love him still so much it hurts... I know I always will feel this love and the pain. But what eases his passing, to me, is that I know he died without ever knowing fear or betrayal. He died only knowing happiness, and trust for all humans. He never knew anything but the warmth of loving arms and gentle fingers. He said goodbye one last time with his habitual kiss, he loved kissing and touching noses, and his eyes, which were half covered with the third eyelid, seemed to say that he loved me with all his heart too, and that it wasn't our final parting. We'd see each other again, in so short a time. But mostly there was just that love.

And so he must have died, on that quiet December night, where the snow fell so gently and meteors fell early the next morning with a brilliant light. I like to think that God was celebrating to receive back the perfect little animal, and giving the world some beauty to replace the light that Earth had been depleted of.

To him, it must be that he just drifted off to sleep and woke up in a brighter, beautiful place where he doesn't feel that awful weariness and that cold. He's in heaven, and he's waiting for me, I'm sure, and I know that when I get there, his face will be the first one I'll see, and the first kiss I get will be from his healthy, non-leaking little nose.

Quigley, I love you. I miss you. I'll see you again, one day, probably far in the future, but nothing can convince me from the belief that we will be together again.


Rest in peace.
August 19, 2010 - December 13, 2010