K.A.M Anagwin

What makes you nervous?

My hand glides down her neck behind her ears, where I feel her soft, silky fur. As my fingers slightly curl into a half-moon shape, her purr rumbles like the soft motor of a car engine. The faster I stroke, the louder she purrs, creating a vicious cycle that entraps her victim. The moment I relax my movement, I feel her purr soften. Within myself, I know I have done well, until piercing green eyes stare daringly into my soul, as if she were recalling to mind every displeasing encounter. My happy countenance is quickly replaced with an apologetic heart. Knowing her unpredictable spirit, I must tread carefully to maintain this peaceful encounter. I am well aware of our past; the times I have failed outnumber the precious moments I recall. 

My tired hand shakes as I raise it from its resting place. I notice the darker shades enlarge, causing her green eyes to narrow tightly. The tension thickens, and I know I have one chance to prove I am worthy of her attention. So as not to startle her, I close my eyes, breaking enough contact to calm myself from the intense situation. As my heartbeat reduces, I reach out towards her. Fear invades my thoughts as I recall her sharp, piercing teeth, ready to bite all that she disapproves of. 

With my eyes closed, I am unable to protect myself if she were to turn against me, as she has in the past. I feel the heat from her face near my stooped-over hand; her whiskers pass over my knuckles, and she pushes her face closer to my fingers. Keeping her sharp teeth inside her closed lips, she rubs against me. I do not allow previous memories to interfere with this moment. With eyes open, I find a content kitty with a purr as loud as a thunderous rumble from the clouds above. 

The bonds of trust strengthen, and the fear between us begins to subside. She needs me as much as I need her. The years have gone by quickly, and how sad it is when I see my once independent friend slow down and I watch helplessly as she struggles to look after herself. Deep within my heart, I know she can’t keep going like this; the greatest test of our friendship is soon to come. I don’t know if it will deepen or break the trust I have taken so much time to develop. As she comes seeking my comfort, with each empathetic stroke I make, I knew I had begun to test our relationship. Reaching towards the brush, I lightly stroke her fur. Her purr deepens with each brush from head to shoulder; with each delightful stride, I can feel her pushing against me, allowing me to believe I could brush further along her body. Until the room went quiet, I notice her eyes are as big as evil saucers, and with a flick from her tail, I feel another kind of rumble emanating from her.  The dangerous growl of displeasure. The fear of an attack grips my heart. Unable to move as her green eyes pierce around her narrow face.  I immediately drop the brush. With a smile, I shyly whisper my apologies. Without further delay, she jumps away, as her thunderous growl shakes the room. The atmosphere is thick until forgiveness overtakes the apparent slight. 

My heart grieves when I see her once silky fur becoming thick as it mats around her once-healthy frame. The more I try to help, the more the bond between us becomes strained. She is a proud and egotistical creature who believes she can care for herself without interference. However, her weary disposition I cannot overlook.  She has becoming unkempt and her interest in food is waning.  No matter how hard she and I try to fight the truth, all I have done is delay the inevitable.  A trip to the Vet is now unavoidable. 

With a heavy heart, I look to where my black ball of fluff is sleeping soundly, tightly curled up in her favourite place. Her black fur blending into the black leather couch.  With an aching heart, I tightly clutch the cat carrier. Our once strong bond is once again tested as I quickly scoop her up and put her into the cage. Her once sleepy glance is quickly replaced with a broken look. Her mournful cries echo through the car, breaking my already fragile heart. Tears roll down my face as the vet handles her as gently as one can handle a feral cat. 

I remember when we first received her into our home. She was almost fully grown, and as wild and as feral as the possums in the tree. Her mistrust of humans burrows deep into her heart; she refused to allow us into the same room as her without attacking us, and eventually, she grew to tolerate our existence. It has been almost fifteen years since that day and as I watch her regain all her fears from the past, my heart becomes heavy with the memory of it, reaching far into my mind. I fear our bond will become damaged beyond repair. I sit down, pulling away from her. As the Vet places her back into the cat carrier, I see scared eyes reaching out to me. Her voice has fallen silent as she watches me pull away. Unable to resist her silent plea, I push aside my feelings with renewed strength, and proudly stand next to her.  As I place my hand along the bars of the carrier, I can feel her face rubbing against me. For the first time, I now know she trusts me, and our bond can endure whatever is to come. 

The day seemed to go by quickly, despite my worrying thoughts.  I try to prepare myself for the worst; after all, she is sixteen years old. Whatever the case may be, I will be strong. The dreaded call comes. My heart pounds with each spoken word. All the Vet says is, “we need to discuss your cat.”  They give nothing away over the phone.  As I drive, my mind overwhelms me with scenarios of different ways I will have to say goodbye.  Perhaps she is too weak to continue with her life. I’m not ready to say those words. I’m only just starting to get to know her, and she is only starting to open up to me. I need her to keep fighting. Tears roll down my cheeks as I recall her life with me. By the time I park outside the clinic, my heart is heavy, and my chest is tight. I know she’s inside, waiting for me to comfort and reassure her that I will never abandon her.  I will always love her as I have done these past fifteen years. 

Counting back from ten, I release my painful sigh. My calm countenance returns to me as I enter the back room, where they tell me they can’t save her fur; it is too much to groom.  The cause of her inability to groom herself is due to arthritis in her back and hips. As if it were common knowledge, the Vet plainly states that it is the pain of arthritis that causes her to lose interest in her food. Without further ado, the Vet leaves me with the examination paperwork and medication. My heart aches as my lips tremble. It’s hard to believe I have worked myself up into such a frenzy. My beautiful kitty is fine and will live for many more years. I can hear her kitten call as the Vet opens the door. Here I am, waiting for her, and she knows I would come. The Vet is pleased to see her leave, as she caused quite a commotion. All afternoon my cat’s thunderous growl has shaken the hospital.  In my arms, however, her powerful purr is all I dreamed of.  

Once home, she jumps back onto her spot, although she mourns her once black, silky fur, she allows me to sit next to her. I know she is trying to avert my gaze by burrowing into the couch, but without letup, I insist on petting her.   

This experience has taught my beautiful kitty that I am always at her side, through thick and thin. How grateful I am that our relationship is deeper, for it could have gone either way.  I too have learned, to never stop caring no matter how it might initially be received, for in the end, the result is beautiful.