It was a hot morning in June – not yet in the Dog Days of Summer, but close enough that the temperatures were in the 90s all week. The sun was barely coming up, streaming sleepy golden streaks through the windows.
Sarabi greeted me in the dining room. She lifted her head when I walked in and slowly blinked at me. She followed me into the kitchen as I fueled my caffeine addiction, then sat down by the water bowl. I pet her and told her she looked tired.
How surreal it is that, just hours later, she’s gone. Her long hair is still everywhere, a silent reminder that we shared a home.
Perhaps fifteen minutes after our morning greeting, I heard her call for me. It was a sound I’d never heard, but I knew it was directed at me. When I approached her, she started breathing heavily. Realizing what was happening, I took her out in the grass to watch the sun rise for the last time. The sky slowly transitioned from a muted periwinkle to a light blue, and the wind ruffled her long hair as we sat. She scooted closer, so I ran my fingers through her fur and thanked her for coming into my life.
I stepped inside for a moment to cancel my earliest meetings, set my work status to Do Not Disturb, and sit on the couch for a moment. My partner woke up to get some water. I asked him to come talk to me. He stood in the corner of the living room, his eyes wide as I gently told him to get through his morning routine and come outside with us to say his goodbyes.
As he rushed through getting ready, I returned to sit with my cat. She lifted her head to look at me, but I could tell her light was dulling. As we sat in the shade, I pet her. She stretched out as I stroked her back and side, and I promised her that Mommy was here and Daddy was coming.
When he sat down beside us, we both whispered our thanks and showered her with love. She moved onto her belly and laid her head down, and we continued telling her that she was a good girl as her breathing grew shallow. Though we were in the shade, the sun spilled over the landscape, bathing it in early golden-green hues as the world awoke. And as Rabi slipped deeper into her sleep.
It was over within the hour, but we were both there. Most cats prefer to leave this world on their terms, crawling off into some obscure place to enjoy a private end. Sarabi wanted us there, though. I know that’s why she called to me, why she scooted closer, and why she waited until her Daddy was there to let go.
Up until the end, she was a woman who knew what she wanted. When we met, it was Valentine’s Day. There was a nasty blizzard rolling in that weekend, but I had run to take coffee to one of my best friends. She lived in a rougher part of the city with a feral cat colony nearby. I saw them often near her apartments, and these cats were wild and unfriendly. A local vet was trapping them, docking their ears after fixing them, vaccinating them, and then releasing them. I’d spoken to them a few times when I saw them in the area.
On this Valentine’s Day, though, a massive gray creature in the colony set its eyes on me.
This thing was huge. Someone had stopped by to feed the cats, and I wasn’t even sure this creature was a cat. But it broke away from a group of maybe six peers and started running toward me. Not knowing what it was, I rushed back to my car. It caught me first and started rubbing against my legs and begging for me to kneel and pet it. Clearly, it was a cat – a Maine Coon mix with very matted, dirty hair. She was definitely not feral, and she was behaving as if she knew me.
Confused, I opened my car door and figured I’d call my partner to see what he thought we should do. The cat just jumped in and crawled into my backseat.
That was how Sarabi ended up coming home with me. She literally told me I was taking her in.
It was strange timing. We’d lost our last cat, Binx, just a few months earlier on Halloween. He was being treated for strange bleeding and a high white blood cell count – the vet had told me that he didn’t have signs of an infection, per se, but they still thought it might have been a little infection. If it wasn’t that, she warned me that it might have been cancer. That would require more testing, though, so they recommended he complete his round of meds first to see if there was any change in his condition. On November 1, he didn’t wake up. I guess we got our answer. That loss especially hurt, as we just didn’t see it coming. We thought we’d have more time to prepare. I promise this will become more relevant as the story unfolds.
So when Sarabi came home, she ended up staying in the basement for the first few weeks as she went through treatment for any parasites she might have been carrying, just to make sure she wasn’t near the dogs during that time. When treatment wrapped up, she didn’t want to come upstairs, which was fine by me. I’m not one to force an animal into a situation it doesn’t want to be in, especially with two intimidating-but-very-loveable pitties in the house. So I figured she could take her time, and we’d go downstairs daily to visit her. She was very affectionate and grateful for her new home, but she just wasn’t ready. As an older cat, I imagined it might take some time to adjust and come upstairs.
Sarabi was so sweet that we kept asking her, “Did Binx send you?” She’d just look at us, seemingly confused but as affectionate as ever.
In May, Sarabi was still living in the basement when I went out with my friend from the apartment complex I’d found her at. We were celebrating her birthday, and we made a habit of doing something outside our comfort zone after we’d accidentally stumbled into a poetry slam years ago. On this May day, we went for a reading with a psychic.
Now, I’m not one who necessarily believes in psychic readings. I believe people can have abilities beyond what we normies may understand, I think, but the thought of someone peddling that skill for money had just seemed outlandish. Even so, we thought it would be fun. So we walked in, ordered two readings, and went into the reading room. This woman did not know us and had not researched us in the two minutes between walking in and sitting down.
Part of my reading package included having the psychic channel a message from my “spirit guide.” I’ll summarize to the best of my ability, but it sounded a bit like this:
“I’m so sorry for Halloween. I didn’t want to go, but it was my time. I love you and my family so much, and I’m still watching. There’s a new girl in my house. No, I didn’t send her, but I really like her. She’s pretty, and I think she’ll be good for my brothers. I’m going to help her figure that out. I’m so glad she joined my family.”
When I heard, “No, I didn’t send her,” I started crying. It felt so much like Binx was responding to the question we’d been asking Sarabi for weeks. When the psychic opened her eyes, she timidly asked, “Did you lose a child?”
I laughed and wiped my tears away. “No, a cat. He died on Halloween night, I think. We found him on November 1st. And you’re right, there is a new girl cat in the house.”
When I went home, I remember telling my partner how weird that reading was. How I deeply wanted to believe that Binx had sent us a message.
A part of me believes he did, because that evening, Sarabi came upstairs on her own for the first time and settled right on into the family. No more basement for my fuzzy queen. She loved her puppy brothers, especially Rocko. They were constantly snuggling, and she frequently would loaf on him like he was one giant bed. Capone annoyed the heck out of her, and she made a sport of hitting him. However, I’d frequently find her cuddled up to him. If we caught her grooming him, she’d immediately stop and look at us with slitted eyes like, “You didn’t see a thing.”
I don’t know what her life was like before she came into mine, but I think she was well-loved at some point. She was a lap kitty, and she loved to snuggle. A cat doesn’t turn out that way without knowing kindness at some point. I’d tried to search for her owner, but nobody claimed her. I have a sneaking but unfounded suspicion that her owner might have died, and she might have run away in the aftermath or had been dumped by their family. She was just too sweet and well adjusted to come from an unkind situation, at least in my mind. She had been on the streets a while, according to my friend who lived at the apartment where I’d found her (or, rather, where she’d found me), but that little girl was just ready for a home when I walked through the parking lot that fateful day. After all, she offered herself a lift in my car.
Whatever her background, she settled right into our little family dynamic.
I’m a firm believer in the Good Death and dying with dignity. There’s a certain magic that comes with a Good Death – dying in your own home on your terms, that is. With Sarabi, those last few moments in the early morning sun hurt, but it was as peaceful a passing as it could be. We pet her, we showered her in love, and when she stopped breathing, we wrapped her in a shroud for burial that afternoon.
And so the sun came up and the birds picked up their daily song. June was marching on, bringing with it the heat and storms and highs and lows of life. Rabi might have moved on, but the love we had for her is still very much filling our home. She lived and died on her own terms.
As we all should. All any of us can hope for is a peaceful passing, and I want to encourage anyone reading this to dig into the power of being present for those dying. It’s scary to see, it hurts, but there’s magic in those moments. There’s magic in touching them, offering comfort, and offering love. There’s magic in the quiet whispers, the silent affirmations. The first tears shed.
And there’s magic in the sunrise, in the daytime. In time. As time marches forward, our wounds heal. They’re often still there, but they stop hurting after a while. Time’s not a panacea – it’s arguably more a poison than a balm, but it’s the thread that moves our life forward and marches each of us closer to our own demise. It’s beautiful and horrible all at the same time. But what a powerful force it is.
Time and memory are our greatest gifts and our greatest foes. Cherish them and use them wisely. Maybe even consider adopting a senior pet, but know that it comes with a much shorter and more painful commitment when their life inevitably concludes.
Sarabi, rest in peace, baby girl. You were cherished in a way words can never express. Thank you for being a part of my life, though we didn’t have as much time as we deserved.