Lessons from Them

Trigger warning: Loss of pets

This is the article I hoped I would never have to write. This is different from what I normally write, but I share lessons I’ve learned in my life and this certainly falls under that category. While it is far removed from languages, no experience in my life has taught me more lessons than the time I spent with them.

At the end of my last semester in college in 2015, I adopted a cat with my former roommate. The cat was a timid three year old girl who immediately ran under the couch when we brought her home. We gave her space and during the middle of the night, I watched as she poked her head into my bedroom before quickly running out. She continued this, getting a little further each time. Eventually, she came up to me and sniffed my hand, only I hadn’t seen her come in so I jumped, scaring us both. I thought for sure I had just ruined any trust I had gained, but to my surprise, she returned and this time she hopped right into my bed. I’m not sure I slept at all that night. I was so focused on making sure she knew she was safe with me. And she did. Penny stayed by my side constantly for the first few days, gaining her independence as time went on.

The love I had for Penny made my heart grow to the point where I knew I could love even more.

In early 2019, I adopted a small kitten with one eye and a big personality. Most of his life was borrowed time. He had countless medical challenges and shouldn’t have made it through his first year, but if there is one thing to know about Desmond, it is that he loved being alive.

I made a promise to him the first time we sat in the waiting room at the emergency animal hospital: if he wanted to fight, I would fight with him. And when he showed me he was ready to go, I would help him say goodbye.

For a few years after that promise, he had no major issues. Then suddenly, he was diagnosed with a severe heart condition and given weeks to live.

That was almost two years ago.

Fortunately for us both, Desmond was as bad at math as I am.

In all of his bonus time on earth, Desmond never suffered. He thrived. He felt no pain, only joy.

I believe a big part of why Desmond beat the odds time and time again was how much he simply loved being alive. After surgery to correct a liver defect as a kitten, he played with IV tubes like toys. At his cardiology appointments, he purred so loudly that doctors struggled to hear his heartbeat. Even when he developed masses on his organs, he never stopped running, jumping, or playing.

Every challenge we faced together devastated me. I grieved him while he was still beside me. I waited anxiously for his decline. I planned my life around his medications and appointments, all the while, Penny looked on - keeping an eye over both of us. Making sure we remembered the importance of food and water by meowing every time a bowl neared empty and being a companion and a calming presence to both of us.

As Penny grew older, she also had her share of medical problems, but like her adoptive brother, she never lost her spirit. While I met her as a timid, clingy cat, as Penny became more comfortable, she began to show off her true personality. She was independent, yet caring. Penny was often in the same room as me, taking solace in my company, but from a distance. Except for when I was sick or emotional, then she would become glued to my side.

For years I worried about her as she began to show signs of her age. I always wanted to do the best I could for her and she was never shy about giving me her opinion and making her needs known - specifically her need for an extra meal at 3am.

Over time, I began to understand the lessons they were quietly teaching me.

Desmond taught me hope. There is always hope. Every time he was given a new challenge, he overcame it with ease.

Penny taught me understanding. She had so much love to show, but in her own way and in her own time.

They both taught me to trust. They both learned to trust me to take care of them and understand their needs and I had to trust them to show me when it was time to say goodbye.

They both taught me to be present. For several years, I lived in constant fear of the end. With a gentle rub against my arm or purring beside me on the couch, they both reminded me it only ends once and for so long, we were not at the end.

They taught me to find the joy in every moment. It’s never gone. There were times it felt too dark for me to see it, but cats always could see better in the dark than humans after all.

They taught me to believe in love. The love we felt for one another was something greater and deeper than most people are capable of imagining. And through the challenges I have faced with them, I came to know how loved my little family was and learned how to accept the help and support that has been offered.

Desmond didn’t fade away or slowly decline in health. That wasn’t his style. He was here, loving every moment of the party and then he just stepped out when it was time to go. For a while, I didn’t understand. How could he be here, so alive, so healthy, so vibrant and then gone so suddenly. I had spent years planning the perfect goodbye. Preparing myself to make the right choice at the right time. I felt like I had failed him in the end, like I had missed the opportunity to give him the perfect send off.

But for Desmond, it was never about that. It was never about the end, it was about all of the moments that came before. He used all of his strength and energy to truly live every moment he had. There was no way he wanted to spend time on earth as a faded, lesser version of himself. So he didn’t.

He understood a lesson that few of us are ever able to learn:

Goodbye is only necessary when something truly comes to an end. Love never does.

If he had it his way, Desmond would have lived well past 100 and I would have been there supporting him every step of the way. He had a strong soul born into a weak body, but he lived a life more full of love and joy than many of us could ever dream of.

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.
A light heart lives long.

Desmond had a light heart and it lived so much longer than anyone could have predicted.

As for Penny, when her health began to decline, I hoped that she could be comfortable until at least the tenth anniversary of her adoption. And she was. We celebrated that day a week before she began to decline. Penny kept her spark, even as her body became weaker. It often felt like she stepped in to take care of me when Desmond was going through rough patches. She did. When Desmond left us, Penny was a constant at my side. Then saw the outpouring of love and support I was receiving from others and realized that I would be okay if it was time for her to go too. She understood that she didn’t have to hold on any longer.

So just five days after Desmond said goodbye, Penny let me know she wanted to go with him. It broke the shattered pieces of my heart to let her go, but I knew it was what she needed, and in doing so, she taught me one final lesson. Love is selfless.

Penny helped me survive my 20’s. She was with me through so many rough patches and watched as I grew and celebrated successes. Her dedication to watching over me rivaled her love of Norah Jones music and her slipper - the only toy she ever played with that she would bring to my bed each night.

They were my family. My soul mates. My heart feels shattered and torn without them. My home feels empty and quiet.

But I will never, ever forget them.

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I will be taking a short break to grieve and to heal, but as they taught me, life is meant to be lived, so I will be back to posting regularly soon.

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I had the great fortune to be able to take care of all of my pet's needs, but not everyone is so lucky. Please consider helping one of these animals and their family - even sharing their stories can help a lot:

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Molly, a chroí — aithnítear cara i gcruatán.