Wait for me this side of the Rainbow Bridge....

After two extra years and many snuggles, Quenty cat passed away quietly nestled between our heads. We were very fortunate to have been able to get another two years out of this feisty, old kitty for a total of nineteen years. I already miss her having a shower with me, trying to eat the baby's food while I fed him, and her silent disapproval as she watched me in the kitchen. She died as she lived, with silent dignity and surrounded by those that loved her the most.

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I had to do one of the hardest, most heart wrenching tasks in my lifetime today; I bought my cat's last meal. Imagine the look on the clerk's face at the pet store when the tears started rolling down my cheeks and my words got stuck in my throat. I paid quickly and rushed out to my car where I proceeded to sob uncontrollably wondering how I could possibly lay to rest somebody I consider to be my best friend.

This really is the food I feed her

I've buried relatives and friends but never a pet. Nothing has prepared me for the painful knot residing in my belly for the past ten days since the decision was made to euthanise my best friend of seventeen years, my constant companion, my rock. While I will be relieved to rid myself of this knot, her departure from my life will leave an even bigger hole in my heart.

My Quentin has been with me since I left the home of my parents many years ago. Even when we were separated at times, I knew she was always there, even if she greeted me with a swipe of her open-clawed paw and a "love" bite with her extra sharp teeth. She was there through many a broken heart, for the birth of my baby, a marriage, a separation, a few relocations and almost every happy moment I can fathom. I told her my dreams, my worries, my secrets. She protected me against the evils of the visitors I had to my home and in turn protected my child as well.

When I was pregnant and awaiting the birth of child, there was much debate as to whether or not I would keep Quenty in the home. She was always a little, okay a lot, on the aggressive side and wouldn't hesitate to demonstrate her hatred of all things human whenever she felt like it. She was unpredictable and vicious but she was mine. I made the decision to keep her and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I've ever made. Quentin started protecting child before she even arrived on the scene. She would sleep on or in all of child's newly acquired things and even went as far as sleeping on my swollen belly when child started moving. Once child came home, Quentin rarely left her unattended. She slept wherever child slept; in her crib, on the couch, beside the carseat, on her newly laundered clothes and under her high chair. When child cried, Quentin would weave through my legs and around my feet as I paced the floor, desperately rocking her in hopes she would calm down. If I put her down, Quenty was right there, ensuring all was well until I returned. As child grew up, she was taught not to poke or chase the cat because we never knew when Quenty would strike. The fear was unfounded as the cat never bothered child, she acted as a protector and a parental figure instead.

As my girl aged, she calmed down and settled into retirement nicely. She was and is content sleeping in a quiet spot, undisturbed. Unfortunately, as is the case with any senior, her health is deteriorating and she is a shell of the cat she once was. While I will miss her very much, I will always have some funny stories to tell. The way she would hide under things or behind corners and wait for somebody, anybody, to walk by so she could jump out and swat you. The time she crawled up the chimney and ended up on the roof of my house, covered in soot, meowing until we found her. She had to go for a bath and I got a call from the groomer asking if I could come up and get her out of the cage because she was attacking everybody. After she was bathed and groomed, I walked her back to the house in a cardboard box on top of my head. The people driving by could see only the tiny head of a freshly bathed tabby peeking out the top of the box. The cage with the sign reading "DANGER" after she was spayed. The cautious way in which she ventured into the yard, waiting for danger at every turn and how beautiful she looked sitting amongst the green blades of grass.

Quentin is finally succumbing to her age and I don't want her to suffer another moment. Experts say cats don't usually die peacefully, their deaths can be violent and frightening to humans and they often die alone. I want her to die peacefully as I snuggle her for the last time and softly tell her I love her.

The Rainbow Bridge