A week ago today, our cat Penelope, styled as "Her Serene Highness, Princess Penelope Ponderosa Pollyanna Peachfuzz," and "Penny" to her friends, passed away.
What hurts is, we weren't there at the time; Nicole and I were in Cancun, and actually preparing to return home later that day. Penny had been boarded at Harmony Pet in Aurora along with Pixie and Bella; we've boarded all of them there on prior occasions, and just a few days before, they sent photos and videos of her that seemed to show she was doing well. I suppose that was true, right up until it wasn't.
Penny hadn't been well for years; she had a tumor in her head, which was causing her to walk unsteadily and sometimes walk in circles, and she had very little sight left, if any. And her most recent vet visit, with neurologist Dr. Samantha Emch at Alameda East Veterinary Hospital, also revealed that she was developing heart trouble. So, I knew the end was coming; I just didn't know how quickly it would get here. Camille and Justin at Harmony Pet knew her condition, and knew how to give her the medicine she needed daily. From what Camille told me, though, she just deteriorated rapidly, like her body was telling her it was time to go.
We will all miss her.
Penny, circa 2010, at the Denver Dumb Friends League
Penny first came into my life in 2010, when my then-fiancee Sabrina and I adopted her from the Denver Dumb Friends League, now known as Humane Colorado. She was about a year old at the time, and had had a litter of kittens just before she was spayed, they told us. She bore some scars, like a big scab that later fell off, a nick on her ear, and a kink in her tail, probably from fights on the street. We were uncertain about adopting a black cat, but we quickly came to realize that black cats are actually good luck; they seem to be aware of their reputation, and they try really hard to be affectionate.
Penny stood with us through all the major milestones of our lives, such as my transition and our move to a different apartment. She was a companion to both of us, spending lots of time sitting with Sabrina as she watched or played video games, and appearing on my Zoom calls as my "feline assistant." When Nicole came into my life and Sabrina and I parted ways, she agreed to allow Penny to come with me, as it would likely be a better environment for her.
At our house in Aurora, Penny seemed to adapt well despite being old and sick; she learned to navigate the larger environment easily, and spent many hours curled up under my desk. Pixie, our dog, was curious but ultimately left her alone. Bella, our other cat, seemed to be hostile, occasionally "bopping" Penny or trying to wrestle her, but we now believe Bella was just being playful, even if Penny was too old to appreciate it. Penny, for her part, occasionally hissed at Bella and tried to defend herself, but mostly remained as chill a cat as she'd always been.
Penny's postmortem paw print, made by Denver Pet Cemetery.
When we picked everyone up, Justin had put Penny back into her Sherpa carrier and put ice blocks on her to try and preserve her. Penny spent the next couple of days in our garage freezer, carrier and all, until we were able to make an appointment at the Denver Pet Cemetery in Commerce City. The couple that runs it were very compassionate. They took a paw print in a small clay disc, and also saved a lock of her fur; what was left, I picked up yesterday. Nicole found a lovely urn on Amazon, similar to two other pet urns she had, that allowed me to put a picture on the front; the image on this blog post is a copy of that picture.
Both Nicole and I will miss Penny, even though I'm the one that knew her longest, even dating back to my life before becoming Amy. Bella, too, misses Penny in her own way; she will often come into my office in the mornings, looking under the desk where Penny used to rest, and sometimes she will meow forlornly. When I brought Penny back home, Bella sniffed at the lock of fur, on which I think she could still smell Penny. Cats do grieve in their own way, and Bella seems to have spent more time with me since we got back, probably telling me, "I'm here, Mommy. I can't be Penny, I can just be me. But I can love you, too."
My author friend Jeff Duntemann has a "Prayer of Returning" that he has said for his dogs that have passed away:
From our Creator we took you;
To our Creator we return you,
That your life with us may glorify our Creator,
And in the hope that we may someday meet again.
Go with God, my good and faithful companion!
That's beautiful, but I also have my own prayer that I say for departed cats. Here it is, as I wrote it in a "black border" announcement on Facebook:
O Bubastis, Goddess of the Nile,
pray keep watch for the arrival
of a little black cat with white on her tummy
named Penelope,
who never scratched or bit without just cause,
who was much loved by her people,
Amy, Sabrina, and Nicole,
and who returned that love in full measure.
Guide her forthwith to the Eternal Catnip Fields,
wherein she may enjoy a well-deserved rest.
And, Penny, one day, may we meet again...in the place where no shadows fall.