A Life Well Lived

You were born on August 14, 2014.

You came into my life at a mere 6 weeks old, barely weaned from your mother.

You used to sit up like a tiny little bear. Eventually you grew out of this, but it made me fall in love with itty-bitty you.

You had ringworm, fleas, and no fur on half your tail. I took care of you when you were small, restoring your health from the garage you came from, not knowing that you would be the one taking care of me for the rest of your too-short life.

I called you Loki, and boy was it fitting.

Full of mischief and chaos, you were not what I expected a cat to be. How long was I going to endure the climbing of curtains, the bites and scratches of needle claws and dagger teeth, the breaking of blinds? Perhaps it wasn’t who you were at all, rather a representation of what I was doing to myself.

I was only 20 when we came together. Through my 20s, I put myself through deeply damaging relationships, lack of respect for myself and from others, moving every one to two years, trying yet valuable efforts at self-discovery, changing jobs, and shifting identities. You were my only constant in this tumultuous decade, reliably breaking things like my college laptop, Christmas decorations, gifts and my skin. You never calmed down, never lost your energy, never lost zest for life. You were not the lazy, ever-sleepy creature I expected you to be. You either looked mad or insane at all times, dilated pupils a warning sign not to try loving on you, yet you always found time to curl up in my lap to watch TV together or tuck yourself into my side in the mornings. I got the best of you, the love you saved only for me, the excitement of play, your courage in facing dogs, cats and the great outdoors, and always coming to my call. You might not have saved me from the roaches I wished you would have eliminated, but you gave me all of yourself every day.

Once you decided you were meant to be wild, you showed me that it would work. You went outside when I left for work, always greeting me on the front porch when I arrived back at home. Eventually we got a dog door set up for you in the window of the kitchen, and without warning I discovered I’d have to adapt to a new way of life.

I didn’t expect to wake up to the sound of a bird so close to me at 6am. I didn’t expect you to bring and entire adult rabbit inside. I had never seen a mole before until you showed one to me. Imagine my surprise when I learned that flying squirrels apparently live in my area.

No matter how much I begged you not to, you kept trying your best to provide for me. You brought me every catch you made, saving nothing for yourself. I saw the catbirds dive down at you, their nemesis, but you feared nothing. You defended my home from other cats, confronted a Yorkie that barked too much. The neighborhood is much noisier now.

You were always a strong, healthy, active cat. Your diagnosis of hyperthyroidism surprised me, but we could adapt, I was more than happy to feed you more. You hated the medicine, and after a while you didn’t seem to be interested in the food much, either. I went all out—ordered the fanciest foods and let you decide your favorite. Before long, that wasn’t good enough either. You were never picky before, what happened?

When I came back from work travel, you were breathing hard. I never noticed this before. Food became even less interesting. It was time for me to find out why.

I don’t know why I never considered you could get cancer, or that I wouldn't have you through most of my 30s too. Nothing prepared me for only having you one more week or watching you waste away in front of me. You held on long enough for us to have one last adventure, a visit to the park, where we stayed until you were content to leave. Thank you for giving me this, even if you didn’t have the energy for much. You were trying to go off and keep exploring until your last day.

I laid you to rest September 27, 2024.

Your remains adorn my mantle with the reminder of the life you lived.

You showed me how important it is to fill your life with color, vibrancy, passion and perseverance. To never let someone stop you from doing what you love or living true to who you are. To go out and decidedly take existence by the reins and turn it into adventure. You made the most of your time not knowing how long it would last, and now I’m doing the same. I am traveling, prioritizing myself, and pursuing my passions.

You sent my next companion to me. I was not prepared to stumble upon Freyja, meeting this little puppy in a field and being claimed as her partner for life. I named her in honor of you, and she has been every bit as trying and rewarding as you were. Thank you for not letting me be alone.

Now I carry on, remembering you often, doing my best to make you proud. You truly changed my life and I will never regret what I shared with you.

I love you, always.