Angel lends a loving touch

My thanks to all the friends and readers who have phoned or emailed me about the death of Pan-Pan.

 

It’s a comfort - and a surprise - to learn how many people remember this cat. They recall how much he loved chicken - people would come by with a nicely cooked chicken breast just for him. They also recollect how gentle he was, purring as complete strangers picked him up and petted him, especially if they had a piece of chicken in their hands.

 

They are not the only ones who remember him. In the early morning a few days after Pan’s death, I wake up suddenly to feel a weight on my chest. It’s one-eyed Angel resting her front paws on me and moaning.

 

I know immediately what this cat is saying. “Where is he?” she cries. “Bring him back!”

 

Her one bright eye stares into my face. My heart breaks. How can I explain to a cat that her friend will never come back?

 

Pan is the first of my cats to die at the clinic, not at home. All the others who died spent their last moments in my arms. Thus, each member of the household had the chance to understand what had happened to their friend.

 

(Even so, they still mourn. Some hide for awhile. Others show their stress by coming down with fevers and inflammations.)

 

Angel, who was closest to Pan, isn’t ready to mourn. She’s spent the past few days looking for him and calling to him. She acts as if he’s simply absent, and now it’s time for him to be present.

 

Now, in the early morning, she loses patience. She wants her friend back immediately.

 

I can only hug her, but it doesn’t do much good. The next day, she follows me around upstairs and down.

 

Angel has another problem. She’s appointed herself friend and caregiver for any other cat who’s not feeling well. She’s been spending part of her time with elderly Susu, and as Pan’s health continued to fail, she would stay next to him, silent but supportive.

 

With Pan’s absence, she’s lost half her responsibilities. It seems to be a real frustration for her.

 

A few days later, her anxiety subsides. She still sits with Susu, but she’s also started to divide her day with me.

 

Perhaps she senses how sad I feel right now, and she’s decided I need her silent support too.