Years ago, Barry was on his regular walk and found a small kitten in box. She weighed 3.5; she was tiny. And vulnerable.
Barry brought her into the house where she fell in love with his other cat, Ms. Polly. She looked toward her as a mother. Ms. Polly, on the other hand, was about 16 years old and generally not amused. This was the first time I noticed the affectionate half-closed eyes in cats. Cleo was sitting quiet in the same room as Ms. Polly, who was minding her own business. Cleo got up from where she was lying, walked over to Ms. Polly, her sleepy eyes half-closed, and nuzzled her, to which Ms. Polly hissed, swatted and jumped away, unamused as ever.
When she was awake, though, Cleo’s eyes were permanently wide open, as if in surprise. She would be lying on a table when we walked in, she’d look at us with her wide permanently-surprised eyes, whether or not anything interesting was happening. And if we looked at her for more than a second she would yawn. She had a black line of color extending from the outer corners of the eyes to the end of her face, like make-up. This make-up is where the name Cleopatra (Cleo, for short) came about.
Eventually some other cats moved in. They were isolated from the rest of the house at the beginning to avoid unpleasantness, and we weren’t sure how long they’d be here. We found homes for some of them, and three others remained with us. It was around that time that Ms. Polly, at the ripe old age of 17 had her last Christmas with us. So, the three cats from the new set were let out of their room to explore the rest of the house.
It was interesting that those three cats walked around, and Cleo walked around, and even if they were all in the same room, it was like having two sets of cats. There was little if any interaction between Cleo and the others. We were sitting watching TV one evening and the three cats all looked toward the bedroom in unison. Cleo continued as she was, unmoved by such things as ghosts walking by. We figured it must have been their mother’s ghost, and that’s why Cleo took no notice.
She loved us. She really did. We have scars from ‘playing’ with her. We had to teach her not to bite, but that never lasted long. She just loved to play that way; she’d hold your finger captive between her teeth, purring away. If you tried to jerk away, instinct kicked in and she held on harder. It was a bad habit, but it wasn’t malice or anger; that’s just how she played. We know this because there were other times she showed what she was made of, and what it looked like when Cleo was actually angry. Barry and I tried for thirty minutes once to give her a pill. The two of us together couldn’t make that happen and the only thing we accomplished was to make her angry and to leave us using alcohol on the many scratches on our arms.
For the most part Cleo was a bundle of self-sufficient contentedness. After Ms. Polly passed, she didn’t even try to associate with other cats, and she was only moderately needy for attention from Barry and me. She’d come to me on the sofa and want attention, but eventually she’d move and lie down a few inches away, purring. She’d sleep on the bed at night, but she didn’t want to touch us. Just being close was all that was needed.
At some point along the way she and I became buddies. She’d see me walking toward the office and RUN in front of me to sit in my chair first. Then she’d look up at me, like, “Whatta ya gonna do about it?” Usually when I arrived home after work she’d run to the bathroom (of all places!) and I’d have to sit on the tub and pet her. Or, I’d pick her up and talk to her for a while, walk around the house and let her sniff the artwork on the walls. Then she’d want down and she’d go on her way, sleeping on a decorative table or something along those mildly destructive lines.
For years Cleo would look outside and have no interest in going out there. She’d sit by the glass door looking out and wouldn’t budge when we walked in. (Really. She wouldn’t move. Not even to get out of the way. We had to step over her.) In the last couple of years, she began to enjoy visiting the back yard. There are cats out there as well, but she took no notice of them. She’d walk right past them, looking ahead at where she was going, and they didn’t so much as swat at her. She enjoyed lying in the grass, in the sun. Very quiet, just watching the world go by, looking at the field on the other side of the fence, smelling what the wind carried.
For the past six months I noticed that she wanted to be outside more. She wasn’t completely determined or demanding, but she’d sneak out given the chance. In addition to lying in the grass, she would lie on the patio, warming herself, with the sun and with the heat from the bricks. As spring began to heat up, she found a spot underneath an Esperanza bush, where the ground did not have grass. She could be in shade and the bare ground would cool her as well.
It’s not that she seemed unhappy, but my experience with cats began to nag at the back of my mind. She was wanting to spend more and more time outside, and she looked so peaceful there. It was getting hot, though, and Barry would bring her back inside to cool down. I wasn’t entirely surprised when she began to lose weight rapidly. She went from nearly twenty pounds to around six.
She enjoyed lying in the grass, in the sun. Very quiet, just watching the world go by, looking at the field on the other side of the fence, smelling what the wind carried.
Barry took her to the vet, which is a lonely experience in the time of pandemic. He parked outside and called; they came to pick Cleo up and take her inside. The vet who was available saw her alone. At first they diagnosed hypothyroidism and gave us medicine for the condition. It was administered in the outer ear, which is the only reason we considered giving it to her. Even in her weakened condition, we were both kind of afraid of her. But, I didn’t think she was acting like she had a thyroid issue. We have experience with that, and this was not the same.
We gave her the thyroid medication, and other one to increase her appetite. She “ate” moist food, which actually just consisted of her drinking the gravy that we made by mixing water to the canned food. Other cats came by the clean up the actual meat. She seemed to hold her weight though, so we continued to give her medicine in the ear and prepare her gravy for her. She continued to slip outdoors at any opportunity she had. She couldn’t move fast usually, but she could slip through a door before it closed. She’d have to catch her breath, but at least she was outside.
I could tell that Barry’s heart was breaking a little. A few times I held her and walked around the yard with her. One such time he told me to walk over by the back fence, where she had always loved to lie. She looked over the fence at the field beyond and I’d catch a glimpse of Barry looking at us as he walked to his studio. Days went by and she became less and less able to move, so I’d sit on the front porch with her, holding her up to keep her comfortable.
Eventually I noticed that she wasn’t able to use her back legs; she could only lift herself up and drag herself along. She couldn’t seem to make herself comfortable and we had to admit that the thyroid medication was not helping that part. Barry called the clinic and asked to speak to the veterinarian who he’s used for years, if not decades. She agreed to see Cleo, though she was in surgery that day. I drove Cleo to the clinic and they came to my car to pick her up. It wasn’t much later that the veterinarian called to let us know that she had found a large tumor in her abdomen. She said it had grown very quickly. Indeed, the previous vet hadn’t caught it just a few weeks earlier.The three of us together made the decision that the time had come for end-of-life intervention. Normally I am an advocate for letting nature take its course, but I support Barry in this 100%. It was so difficult to see Cleo suffer, and she was suffering. She couldn’t get comfortable; she couldn’t walk or even hobble any more. The doctor was in surgery for a few more hours and Barry asked if we could bring her home during that time. She agreed, so we planned that I would pick her up and we’d take her back to the clinic at 4 o’clock.
The images above are courtesy of Tamara Talamantes. davincibox.com
It wasn’t very hot yet when I brought her home, so Barry asked me to put her under her Esperanza bush. She wanted to be tucked way back behind it. I sat with her for a while. I did that as much for Barry as I did for Cleo. He’s had many, many cats in his life, and it’s never easy to arrive at this point. Especially with a loving cat with so much personality.
As we got closer to four o’clock, he wanted to go dig a grave for her so it would be ready when we got home. He had just had surgery on his hands, so I did the digging once he told me where. (It had been raining, thank God.) Our friend Tamara was working in the studio, and we let her know. She has three cats of her own, so she understands how it is.
Barry holding Cleo
The time arrived. We gathered Cleo up and got in the car. Barry, unable to use his hands, let me set her in the back seat, and he sat back there with her. This time the clinic let us come in; they told us that this is the one, and the only one, exception that they make. We still wore masks and kept a polite distance, but we were able to be there with her. I don’t know that we could have done it otherwise. The vet talked us through what would happen; she tranquilized Cleo first so she’d be asleep at the end.
And Cleo passed in Barry’s arms.
On the way home, I pointedly drove slow, and with my headlights on. When we arrived, Tamara joined us. Barry gathered the holy water and a small cross charm. He blessed Cleo and put the cross in the ‘angel bag’ they gave us at the clinic. Then Barry, Tamara and I did a sort of procession to the graveside, with Tamara’s cat Ziggy following along. We lay Cleo into the ground and took turns throwing dirt into the grave. Then we covered her with earth, the earth she had longed to lay on for the past few months.
I’m always a little envious of Barry’s cats. While it is heartbreaking to say goodbye like this, I know for a fact that he has spoiled them and given them a better life than they ever could have had anywhere else. I remember Cleo, the cat who never noticed the other cats in the house, and never paid much attention to the dog when he was here. She lived, mostly, for me and Barry, and for any other person who came to visit and was silly enough to put their hand too close to her mouth when they pet her. She loved each and every one of them, but she was who she was. She was strong and held her own; the tom cats outside didn’t even try to bother her. I remember her running across the wood floor, sounding like a herd of horses. As soon as Barry sat on the sofa she was on his lap, pushing at his hand and nibbling his fingers until he pet her and gave her attention. I remember fighting with her over the office chair, and letting her have it while I sat on a wooden dining room chair. I remember Cleo filling her own spot on the bed at night, not next to Barry, but close to him. (I also remember Barry, once, sleeping sideways across the bed to keep from disturbing her.)
Barry found Cleo on the side of the road, tiny and vulnerable, and she grew to be big and confident in his home. A cat like that gets under your skin, literally and figuratively. She wasn’t shy about taking up space here. She let us know that she loved us and demanded love in return. She made herself a part of our life and made sure we knew she was important. Without us realizing it, she created a space in our hearts and filled it. The house doesn’t feel the same without her. She will be missed.
We miss you, Cleo