Last night was the first in 13 years I feel asleep without Honey at my side. She never actually slept with me. She just sat beside me on my bed for a few minutes and looked down at me with so much love in her eyes. Then she’d go under my bed and sleep right beneath my head. Maybe that was her way of sleeping with me.
Honey came to live with me 13 years ago and brought her kids — Katie and Winston — with her. They were kittens at the time and came from a horrible high-kill shelter in southern Virgina. They were supposed to go to my rescue’s shelter. But Honey was very sick, so they came here as fosters until she was well. Happily for me, they never left.
Memories Are Made Of This
When they got here, Honey was so scared and so shy, she disappeared under my bed, and that’s where she stayed for two weeks. Meanwhile, Katie and Winston were just happy to be out of the cage where they’d lived for months and were busy reclaiming their kittenhood. They were into everything everywhere.
About a month after they got here, I took them to an adoption show at a grooming shop. Although I was planning to adopt Honey with them, she stayed home because she would have been terrified at the show.
But nothing scared Winston, and it took him about five minutes to decide he wanted to know what was behind that big furnace. He got stuck! When we finally managed to get him out, his buff-colored fur was black.
There are advantages to having an adoption show at a grooming shop. Winston got a much-needed bath and spent the rest of the show drying off under a heat lamp in a cage.
My Wonderful, Quirky Honey Cat
Honey was always very shy. But she loved her cats, and she loved me. She was never a lap cat. She didn’t like to cuddle. But there was a special bond, an almost magical connection, between her and me.
Despite her shyness, she loved to walk with me and the other cats. If I sat down outside, she’d walk around me in big circles. Then she’d wander off in search of grasshoppers. She loved to catch grasshoppers and bring them inside.
Indoors, she could spend what seemed like forever sitting in the middle of a Turbo Scratcher mindlessly swatting the ball around the track. If I couldn’t find her, all I had to do was look up high. She’d be on a table or the top of the book case, surrounded by collectibles she managed to never disturb.
When I went into the bathroom to put on makeup, she was always right there to help. Sometimes, she sat on the vanity to watch. Other times, she sat on the side of the bathtub to keep me company. She had a special toy that she loved to play with in the tub.
Even when she was in a different room, I felt like she was with me. She had a very strong, almost maternal, spirit. I felt like she was always watching over me, just to make sure I was okay.
I still feel that way. I can’t see her, but I know she’s here.
It’s Not Goodbye
Nov. 6 began like any other day. Honey sat in front of me on the vanity and helped me brush my teeth and put on makeup. As always, I told her she was lucky she didn’t have to risk poking herself in the eye with a mascara wand because she looked perfect the way she was.
About an hour later, as I was getting ready to leave to see my pet sitting cats, I heard the most awful screams coming from my bedroom. Honey was on the floor, unable to walk.
Last spring, the vet found a huge mass in her liver. All the internists and surgeons we saw said there was nothing to do. The mass was too big to be removed safely. And while we could assume (or not assume) it was cancer, liver cancer doesn’t respond to treatment.
With no help from the conventional doctors, I contacted Charles Loops, a well-known veterinary homeopath, and treated Honey with homeopathy.
She never seemed sick, but I noticed changes when she started taking Dr. Loops’ remedies. She was braver than she’d ever been in her entire life. And she had more energy.
But about six weeks ago, I had a terrible feeling that the remedies were no longer working, that the mass was growing and she wasn’t feeling well. I wanted to do another consult with Dr. Loops, but I didn’t know what to say. How do you explain a terrible feeling? Maybe Dr. Loops would have understood…
And I don’t think it was the mass that took my Honey Cat away from me. She had a slight heart murmur, and I suspect she threw a blood clot.
She passed on my bed, in my arms and in my tears.
But while her body’s gone, my Honey Cat is still here. I feel her presence everywhere, wrapping me in her almost-maternal love.