Farewell, My Love

My beautiful Rudyard Kipling passed away on Monday, September 5th at the age of 18 years and 5 months. Writing those words conjures a certain sense of finality, yet those words do not express the depth of my sadness and loss. I have put off writing this post for months, which means that I haven’t written any posts since his death.

My husband and I have never had an “us” without Kip. In fact my husband assisted during his birth and loved on him as a kitten. When I met my husband and then adopted Kip a few months later, that relationship continued. The three of us bonded together into an unbreakable family unit.

I have often said that no cat is luckier than the cat raised by a childfree couple. Kip received all our affection and attention. He slept in our bed as a true member of the family. I liked to joke that “he sleeps like a people” as he rested his head on the pillow with his body snug under the covers. I doubt Kip really ever thought of himself as a cat. His strong will and playful spirit could match any toddler, and his brilliant mind could challenge Einstein. I know it sounds like I’m embellishing, but until you’ve been around such a clever cat, you cannot know what I mean.

Kip survived Mandy, a tortoiseshell Manx, and his sister India, another Bengal. While he enjoyed companionship with his sister, he remained focused on his relationship with his humans. Kip preferred our company and took every opportunity to bond with us. We gave into his every whim, and he relished it. He challenged us almost daily with his territorial urges and tender manipulations, reminding us that he’s in control. Despite his headstrong nature, we loved him always and forever.

Though he lived a very long life, he spent half of those years battling IBD. Near the end we suspected he had a gastro-intestinal (alimentary) lymphoma, which is often a progression of IBD. Our vet respected our wishes to avoid invasive diagnostic procedures and maintain him on steroids. Over the period of three years, we watched Kip fade away into a shadow of himself. He was thin and frail but still determined. In the last weeks, he refused to sleep with us, choosing instead to sleep near food. We longed for him to sleep through the night, to play again, to be at peace. He walked into rooms and seemed to forget why he was there with his head scanning from side to side. I found myself hoping he would pass peacefully in his sleep on his favorite couch on the sun porch.

We delayed vacations and outings, worrying about Kip’s health. In August we went to Massachusetts to visit family. My parents cared for him while we were away, and while they reported that he required a round-the-clock care-taker, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We departed on the second leg of our journey home on Labor Day, and that’s when my Mom broke the news that Kip was dying. The day prior he had taken a turn for the worst but appeared to be peaceful, and my Mom decided to wait until the next day to tell us. Once we heard the news, we rushed home. We didn’t care about speeding tickets. A drive that would typically take 5.5 hours took 4.5 hours. We got home in time to be with him for four hours prior to his peaceful departure from this earth. He died on his favorite couch on the sun porch, just where I had hoped he would.

Kip died as he lived, on his own terms and in his own way. My heart still skips a beat when I see a cat-shaped lump under the covers. I find myself listening for him. I notice his traits in our other cats. Last night I felt melancholy thinking about our first Christmas without Kip when Sookie snuggled up next to me. Sookie and Kip had a special bond, a sort of February – December romance bound by mutual respect and affection between a kitten and an elderly cat. She purred, interlaced her warm body with my arm, and fell asleep. I am so grateful for the intimate love between humans and cats. I am blessed.

Farewell, my love, my Kip. I will see you again some day.