Born in a farm shop's packing box, nestled into polystyrene 'wotsits', Casey was the son of the local chocolate-box, tabby beauty and a devilishly smooth, feral cat from the neighbouring woods. He was less than 48 hours from birth when I first saw him - charcoal fluff, teeny triangular ears and eyes not yet open. A few weeks later, still under the care of his mother, he and his six chocolate-box, tabby siblings were living in a stable full of fresh straw. Invited in to see him - "Do you still want the black one?" - as I knelt down and reached out a hand the tabbies beat a retreat to the corners while Casey stepped forward and hi-5ed me with a swipe. And so the deal was set. I'd already known it would be.
When I last saw him, he was less than 48 hours from an exhausting, horrible death. Already in acute respiratory distress, he was drowning from the inside due to the fluid in his lungs. His big beautiful heart was worn out after almost 100 cat years of being awesome.
I hadn't wanted him to pass in a vet's surgery after a traumatic car journey but that was how it had to be. It was strangely in tune with the clean, chemical surroundings of his birth.
As Casey left his body, we were staring into each others eyes as I gently held his face and rubbed his ear. And then...there was simply absence. A fine old cat's body lay on the exam table but there was no one inside. His physical form was a beautifully tailored suit left behind by a dapper old gentleman.
It's hard to be sad for a life lived - bar a few hours - in its entirety. Free, happy, healthy, strong and loved beyond words, then helped to peace when the alternative was unconscionable. We should all have such a life. But I am sad. I miss him. I'm sitting at my kitchen table and I should be nudging him off the keyboard and writing with my head tipped to one side so that we can hold our faces together, me inhaling that glorious CaseyCat smell while he purrs and purrs and purrs. The part of my heart that is his will never be the same. It is broken.
That said, I am proud to wear the scars - matched by the more visible one on my nose, gained from foolishly trying to pick up a cat who was running from a big dog and hadn't realised it was me lifting him to safety.
Today I am overwhelmed by the honour given me. The honour of witnessing an entire life, virtually from start to finish. Who gets to do that? My perspective is changed. A whole LIFE. And I was able to love him through all of it. I can't quite comprehend the enormity of that.
Right now, CaseyCat is out of reach. He is held in love and light and he is resting, learning about his new surroundings. But I know for certain that he'll come and see me when he's ready.
We have a deal.
.
.
