I miss her so much, my Molly, Her last day with me was yesterday. This morning, the house seems devoid of life. There was no beautiful tortoise-shell kitty to grace my pillow this morning. To give me catnip kisses or to nudge my chin, as she lay on my chest to greet me for the day. No one to be sure to spill hot coffee on me as I try to manage drinking coffee in the mornings while ducking all her headbumps to my cup.

Tuesday, it all came crashing down as Molly decided she had been through enough. She was tired, she didn’t want to fight the pain any longer. She sent me a message that clearly said to me: “Why  haven’t you been listening to me? Why am I still here?”

I knew months ago that she was struggling. The vets kept assuring me that when cats have neurological damage “over time their bodies will adapt to the changes.” But they didn’t factor in that this kitty, who follows me in the house. She will come into the shower while I am taking one. She will claim my lap, sleep with me nightly. Be the best representation of love-  until she is sick or not feeling good. Then she turns into the Baskerville Hound of Hell.

You can’t get a pill in her, no ointment can land near her without WW III breaking out. She takes no prisoners. Even something as simple as flea-treating her (which I did faithfully every month) turned into a battle of epic proportions. It’s hard to wrap my mind around it still. How a cat that shows such intense love for me-could just morph into the feral cat from hell when it came to helping her?.

She was my heart. She was adopted out twice and came back both times. She was set in her mind, her place was here, with us, with me. I was her human and I was gifted the blessing of being that for her.

I ignored the signs, until I could no longer. I tried several times to schedule an appointment to stamp her Bridge pass, especially in the last few months. But I kept procrastinating, hoping praying that her body would indeed adapt to the changes. I couldn’t let her go. She was in pain, but she was not dying. I knew that in her future this pain was going to really consume her and there would be NOTHING I could do for her when that happened. I was unable to even rub any type of compounded pain med on her ears. For the first time, I had a cat who was not feral that I could not pill.

One vet from another clinic told me (after his first visit with her) that she was “vicious!” He told me never to bring her back to his clinic. I never did. I never went back to him again. She is not vicious, She was altered from her freak accident with Kota. The vet got that so wrong.

Tuesday night, Molly and I sat up all night together. I told her I was sorry for letting her down. For not having the strength to face my day without her in it. I told her her  the fight would soon be over and as I spoke to her, she laid on my chest, she settled. She knew, she knew that soon she would be free of pain. For the first time in months, she just shared my lap quietly. There were no grunts of pain as she dug into her belly and back legs chasing the pain that surrounded her daily. She just knew.

I believe I got four hours sleep that night. It was the most peaceful I have ever seen her. We shared heartbeats, she left kitty kisses on my nose and chin. She snuggled under my neck. She thanked me for finally listening to her. I still have cat hair in my nose. She  crawled so much further into my heart than ever before.

I had gone to see my vet several months back, specifically to talk to him about her struggles. I had left her at home because she turns into a bat out of hell inside a treatment room. She never used to before. But after the accident, she was altered. How could I expect her not to be? As I shared in an email with a close friend- how could I expect anything else? Kota weighs 90 pounds, she weighs 8. No matter how soft my king-size mattress is, it could not protect her from damage when he jumped on the bed and landed on her It was past midnight, it was dark, she is dark. He did not attack her, it was purely a freak accident. I told the vet that there will be a time in the future that I would bring Molly to him. Although, (I told him) she may look “healthy” she will not be. I asked him not to challenge the decision, to work with me so she could leave here with dignity before the pain did become life-threatening. He promised he would do so and yesterday, he delivered on that promise.

She went so fast. She was so ready to go. The vet prayed with me afterward God Bless his gentle soul. He did not traumatize her, she just shut her eyes and went to God.

So in a year of great sorrow for so many, there is one more departure that tears at my heart. Ever since Mike passed, Molly has not left my side when I am in the house. It was as if she was saying: “I am here for you Mom. I am here.”

So although it took me awhile to stop ignoring the handwriting on the wall, in the end, I was here for her as well. I called my vet and he put her to sleep at 4:40 p.m. yesterday. I brought her home and let her friends say goodbye to her. I buried her under the cherry trees in the front yard where she loved to lay in the summertime. I planted a Dahlia bush on her grave. My clowder is in mourning this morning. She has been with us a long time. Her presence will be missed by all. Today, I know, she is curled up on Mike’s chest. I am sure he is thrilled to be with her again.

Enjoy the look back at this incredibly courageous girl. The love of my heart.