Three and a half years ago, I found this little kitten in my drive way. Starved, frozen, unable to walk, she lay in the bushes, hidden from the ice wind of winter in Denmark. All she could do was cry. And cry, she did. She cried for her life when I came home from the stable, parking my bike. I have never heard anyone cry like that. It was a desperate sound, a sound of an animal, whose body was dying, but whose spirit refused to accept that this was the end.
Three and a half years ago, I picked her up, took her inside, and tried to feed her. She could not eat. She could not drink. When she tried, she threw it up.
The boyfriend sat with her until she stopped freezing. We both thought she would die over night. None of us dared take her to the vet, afraid that they would just put her down. Somehow, there was this spark inside this cat, that convinced us to fight for her. Or, to let her fight.
That’s how she came to be named Life. She came to us, with nothing but her WILL to live. And that alone, brought her out of the cold and straight into our hearts.
Life sat on Aston for weeks. She could not walk. She clawed her way around by her front legs, as her hind legs refused to carry her. Yet, she fought like no one I’ve ever seen fight before and in time, she regained mobility.
Getting to know her, she had the biggest persona I’ve ever come across, contained in such a tiny body. She had so many faces, she could change expression in a heartbeat, and I swear she had an amazing sense of humor and a well developed sense of irony.
Not to mention entitlement. And heaven knows, we enabled her. She had suffered more than enough. If anyone was entitled to live and be happy forever, it was Life.
Yes, she slept with us, in our bed. Mostly on Aston’s pillow.
Or, simply on Aston. Those two had the sweetest kind of symbioses.
Not that she did not settle for me, when Aston was unavailable. But she was always his cat.
And when we left the bed, she could stay forever like this.
She was no doubt lonely when we weren’t home at first, but that was bettered a lot when I discovered her love for My Little Pony. That’s right. Life had her own collection.
Majesty was her first pony and she never stopped loving her.
She was a lot less lonely with Majesty. And she would steal my ponies any chance she got.
Tinka Too, she stole, and since she wasn’t all that rare, I let her keep it.
She had a remarkable eye for real My Little Ponies. She loved them, licked them, slept with them… But fakies. Oh, she bullied those.
And then she found my Skywishes.
I can easily say that I wasn’t a huge fan of that, but she loved it so much, I bought her a Skywishes of her own.
I have a thousand pictures of Life and Skywishes.
I could go on forever. Life had a lot of ponies in the end.
She loved them all, but Shywishes was special.
Now, her life wasn’t all ponies, although they mattered a great deal to her. She was a gangsta cat too.
Always ready to steal anything shiny.
And play X Wing with us.
She sat in my lap when I wrote half of my books.
Hell, she has written her own stories.
She loved smartphones. Especially when they lit up.
But she’d settle for just keeping it as her own and sleeping on it.
She sat on Aston at all times. He learned to work with her on his arm. And as you can see, she was entitled.
Nothing more important than sitting with the cat.
Also, she played with her adoptive sister.
Posed for the camera.
Played like a crazy kitten.
Sat on her sister when they wanted the same box.
Or just played in boxes. Because boxes are cool.
She was perfect.
Oh yeah, that’s a My Little Pony Generation 3 pillow. She stole it from me. It was hers very quickly.
She ate everything, water melon included.
She sat with me through all 11 seasons of Supernatural, even if she wasn’t always impressed.
She slept on the keyboard, making it impossible to do any work at all.
Or she sat up like a human, owning that computer.
I know, I use past tense. Life suffered a stroke today. I can hardly believe she is gone.
She was …. everything ….
I haven’t cried like this, since Apollon died in 2012.
The vet said that it was quite common for cats her age, to get a thrombosis like that.
I have no words. She was three and a half years old. She was such a fighter and bam. Gone.
Within an hour. No warning whatsoever. She just couldn’t breathe, out of nowhere. Her tongue turned blue and her legs failed her.
We instantly took her to the vet, and he just shook his head. Nothing we could do at all.
Nothing we could have done to prevent it either.
Nothing. Just… Nothing…
Just a new grave in the backyard. Guarded by the Applejack she never got.
I always had a thing for Applejack. She never got one of those. She was buried with Skywishes though. So now they’ll be together forever.
While all we have left is the rest of her pony collection.
Three years of memories. And tears. Loads and loads of tears.
If anyone deserved to live, it was Life. She WANTED it more than anyone I’ve ever met. And she got to live for three years, against all odds. So in a way, she got a long life.
But then again. It was so short. So horribly, terribly short.
Goodbye Life. I hope you got to be happy with us. I hope you felt loved. I hope you’ll never know how we miss you. How I don’t know how we are going to sleep tonight without you between us. On your pillow. Purring.
It is going to be so quiet.
I’ll stop writing now, before I drown my keyboard- her keyboard -in tears.