Remember that period after isolation began and you would start waking up in the morning like, “Why?” A lot of people had that time, maybe still do, maybe didn’t. It was strange how the base levels of our Maslow’s Pyramid took weird hits. We seemed to have all somehow become more grounded in reality.

Lots of days i wouldn’t sleep well. i’d get up before dawn and fuss about the cat who’d pooped on the stairs again. She hadn’t gone inside the box consistently in years. Those mornings it was the promise of purpose, in cleaning her messes and feeding her, that helped me move. i’d do all of the chores then hang out a while, taking my nap after the sun was way up.

Cleo is my mom’s old ass black cat with the crooked tail. Every year until recently, Viv would spend some wintertime in Puerto Rico while Cleo visited human friends in their homes. She is a great roommate—i’ve seen her convince even the most allergic to give her lap space. Cleo has lived all over the East Coast since a rough start in her first life at a trailer park. She is always talking; a noisy, sweet kitty. If you leave her alone too long she can get an attitude about it, though that has lessened as she ages. Increasingly too, she’ll yell for seemingly no reason. i try to convince people that Cleo is a singing cat—we don’t discourage her based on quality of sound.

Being kept alive by our animal companions is a rite of passage, probably no more universally shared than in the difficult days of a pandemic. Cleo took good care of me; we’d talk a lot. After a while she showed me a part of her hind leg that had been ailing her. She slowly taught me how to give her the tiniest massages. i was rewarded with big purrs when i got it right.

This was my third or fourth live-in situation with Cleo throughout her life. It was epic, to be certain, but when she joined our family i was still a teenager, in the midst of my first relationship, and managed to get fired from a summer job (in hindsight i would likely now feel some kinda way if i hadn’t been fired at some point, but at the time this was A Thing). Another time she had to move houses with me while i was sitting her in DC—long story. She pooped all over the floor, but my roommates didn’t care. She even helped me put out a fire once. i had inadvertently lit it, and she remained calm as i doused the growing flames.

Cleo is a gem, as most cats seem to eventually become to their families. We can learn from her too: this cat has lived beyond her given nine lives. She survived poison, y’all. Then traveled far and wide, charming everyone she could. Tonight she is sleeping on a blanket on a pillow next to the radiator in my mom’s Maine bedroom. Tomorrow she will leave us. The leg i used to coddle has finally given up, and Cleo’s quality of life is in peril. That little shit would be down to her last toe bean before she left this life, were it up to her. Instead, Viv made a difficult, wise decision.

In every way now i am also in that bedroom. i want to encourage Cleo to simply let go. She won’t, so i’ll be joining on the trip to the veterinarian as well. i will not be leaving their sides. i cry harder where i actually am because of the energy it takes to be there of soul but not body. i sob for the way i crave my mother’s grief to prop against my own. i want to feel Cleo’s breath on my hand and hear her snores in first person. Crying in these moments helps me reconcile the distance.

Thus, at the end of probably her twentieth life, we say goodbye to Cleo: a true confidant, righteous friend, courageous hero, and poopy baby. A survivor and inspiration. Muchas gracias por todo, hermanita. i too will live as many lives as i can.