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I sat on the floor, stroking the cat who had kept me company for twenty years. His life was at an end now, and I found I could not take the pain of his loss. The fact that we had twenty years together was the least important issue at that moment. His labored breathing was all I could focus on. He purred weakly, raising his small round head to gaze at me with wide, wondering eyes. His ears twitched as a small animal fluttered by in the bushes outside the window, but that was all. He lowered his head again, still purring.His name was Jake, the most wonderful friend I had ever had. I could not imagine a time without him, and now that the time was close at hand I thought my heart must burst open and flood out its grief there beside the bed. The vet had said that he might last out the week, and that it would most certainly be painless. I had opted not to take matters into my own hands, but to let him go naturally. I knew it was the right thing to do. Jake might not be in pain, but I was hurting plenty.
His lovely coat, a black on brown tabby with a luxuriant white belly, was as beautiful as ever. It was a disease that took the cat from within rather than without. He had been diabetic for eight years, and it had finally taken its course. Nothing could be done about it. I was lucky to have those eight extra years, but now, with Jake at the furthest edge of life, that thought did nothing to comfort me.
He shifted position and looked right at me, his right front paw resting lightly on my two outstretched fingers. He squeezed his eyes together. I leaned over and kissed him on top of the head. He purred louder. I rested my chin between his perfectly formed ears and whispered “Jake, I love you and I don't ever want you to leave me.”
“I love you too,” came the reply, soft and sure.
I jumped, a reaction that would have ordinarily startled Jake and send him skittering, but he just sat there in the same position, looking at me with his sweet, wide eyes.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Jake looked at me with intensity, a look I had seen many times in the last twenty years. The difference this time of course, was that I actually heard a voice, soft, sweet and loving.
“It was I,” came the reply. Jake squeezed his eyes again.
“It can't be,” I said, looking behind me. There was no one there. Of course there was no one there. The house was home to two denizens only, and we were together right there.
“But it is,” said the voice. “I have much to tell you and not much time, I'm afraid. I might not have the strength to finish. Whatever happens, my old friend, I want you to know that I love you as much as you have loved me.”
He licked my hand and nuzzled the fingers with his cheek.
“Oh my God,” I stammered. “It really IS you. I'm not imagining it, am I?”
“No, it really is me. It just proves how far gone things are for me.”
“But your lips aren't moving!” I protested.
“Of course not. I can't speak. We are so close, you and I, that our thoughts have become as one. It is the first time it has ever happened to me, and that is a good omen.”
I kissed him on the head again. “Why is that?” I asked.
“Have you heard the old myth that cats have nine lives?”
“Well, of course I have!” I said. “I used to feed you ‘Nine Lives’ cat food on occasion. You really enjoyed it too…and the Pounce, you remember that?”
“I really didn't know the food you gave me by name, but everything you did for me made me love you even more,” he thought back to me. “Do you know what the myth of nine lives pertains to?”
“I always assumed that it referred to the resiliency of the feline being,” I said. “That cats have such unusual survival skills that it’s almost like they have nine lives.”
“Yes, it would seem that way…but that’s not it,” he said.
Jake seemed to be a little stronger now, and he looked at me intently. “Lean your face down to me,” he asked. I did so, my nose touching his nose. He opened his mouth and began to lick my nose, taking his time with each stroke of his tongue. “I always loved doing this,” he said. I started to cry, large wet drops of salty moisture clouding my vision. “I don't want to lose you, kitten!” I sobbed, burying my face in his side.
“You won't,” he replied. “In fact, you've saved me.”
I stopped crying for a moment, and looked into his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
He lowered his head onto his paws. I had always considered them to be his hands, because he was so adept at manipulating things with them. “My ninth life is close to an end, and you have saved me.”
“What do you mean?” I repeated.
“A cat is a unique being, my old friend,” he began. “Our essence travels from body to body with each new life, of which we have nine. It was a blessing bestowed upon is by Bast in ancient times. When one life is ended, we begin another. This is continued until we have lived nine lives. We have that long to make a difference in the world. We have retained the independence of our ancestors, but it was decreed that we should act as companions to humans, acting as their equals in most ways, but still making a difference. If we can touch the life of one human, enrich it and nurture its happiness, the ending of our ninth life will bring us to eternal existence.” He paused and licked my hand again. “This is why you should not grieve. One day we will be together again, never to be separated for all eternity. You are that one person to me.”
I looked at him lying there, old, weary and worn out. The cat who had spent nearly every night sleeping by my side, or on my chest, kissing my nose or my hand or my leg, the cat who smashed into me with a loud meow and collapsed to his side on my foot, purring and looking expectantly up at me. The cat I had taken care of through diabetes, respiratory infections, fur loss and various injuries. The cat that had been there for me during every good time and bad time. The cat who I watched hockey games with, gardened with, read the newspaper with, played with, kissed and nurtured from kittenhood. The cat whose tail lightly flicked my arm as we napped together on the couch in the warmth and breeze of summer. The cat who had permeated every facet of my life, whose essence could be seen in any corner of the house and every corner of my existence. He had made a difference all right. All the difference in the world. I wept. How could I not?
“I don't remember any details about the other lives at all. Just vague impressions. I was once a stray, shot at by some kid, once I was run down in the street. Once I was a barn cat, ‘just a cat’ to the family. Once I was a kitten who was drowned in a bag. Once I was abandoned by a family who grew tired of the novelty of a cat, and spent the rest of that life…about a month…in a shelter. Only once have I been loved or been given the chance to love, and that was this life. The ninth life. The last life.”
“You have been everything to me, you know that, right?” I choked.
“Yes, I know. And you have been everything to me. I love you very much, and I shall be keeping an eye on you. When I am gone, you will find another cat to take in and care for. Get two and love them both as you loved me. I will be watching you, waiting for the day when we can be together again. Until then, I never want you to forget about me.”
“I will never forget you, or stop loving you, my darling little friend,” I said.
“Nor I you.” He looked at me again then kissed my hand. “My time has come, and I must go. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope I have been a good friend.”
“The best,” I whispered. I lowered my head one last time and he kissed my nose. He purred while doing it, and his eyes were open. We locked gazes while he licked delicately at the nose that had borne the rasp of his tongue for the last twenty years.
He finished, lay his head down on his hands and then he was gone.
I sat holding him for an hour after that, cradling his body, stroking him. My eyes leaked like a dam bursting its seams, and when I could at last move, I had to soak a sleeve of my shirt in my own tears before I could see again.
I gave him a final resting place in the patch of trees behind the house where he liked to take his naps. I shook through the whole process, and when I was done, I sat on the ground, watching the sun setting through the trees and wept.
“Don't grieve for me,” I heard distantly. “Remember the good times we had, all of them. You have already saved me, and we will be together again someday. I promise.”
I looked up and thought I saw something…my beloved Jake as he looked at me one more time, turned, and walked into the forest.
I have since welcomed two other cats into my home, Tasha and Alex, and I love them dearly. They run and play and purr and do all the wonderful things that cats do. I will love them in their own right, but they will never replace my Jake. I can only hope he was right, and that when all is said and done here in this life, there will be an eternity of time to spend with the one cat who made a real difference in my life…my Jake.
Copyright © Mark Rosengarten, 2000
AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT: This story was written when Jake was fifteen years old. He lived on for another three. He was put to rest in March of 2000. He is survived by Mina, Milo and Murphy, who I love every bit as much as I loved Jake.
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