Almost 14 years ago, my beautiful little gray cat Lexi, died suddenly from a brain aneurysm and I was shattered. I didn’t think I’d get another cat for a while; I knew I’d never be able to replace her and I was just too heartbroken. Yet just a few weeks later, while home sick from work, sniffling on the coach and flipping through TV channels, I came upon a show produced by our local Humane Society to encourage adoption of their dogs and cats.
And there, nestled calmly in the presenters arms, was “Gizmo”. A petite brown and tan tabby, something about her little pixie face and luminous green eyes captured my heart right away. Soon I was throwing on a pair of jeans and driving to the shelter to bring her home.
We renamed her Beamer and she settled in quickly. She was so soft, so sweet. Estimated by the vet to be about two years old, she liked playing with stuffed mice and happily buddied up with Sadie. She liked to sleep next to me (and sometimes on my head) and would wake me in the morning with “love pats” to my face. She was gentle and quiet and stoic when more cats and a curious little boy joined our household.
Over the past few months, Beamer started having health issues. Tests and x-rays strongly suggested cancer. While she began to lose weight and occasionally pass blood, she was still cheerful, and regular visits to the vet for fluids and meds kept her going for a bit. A month ago she had a rough weekend and I tearfully set up an appointment to take her in one last time. Yet when we arrived at the vet’s she seemed to perk up, wanting to explore the office, and I found myself sobbing and thinking it wasn’t time to let her go. I’m grateful for the amazing, compassionate Dr. Mazzochette at Airpark Animal Hospital who gently told me she would euthanize Beamer if that was my decision, confirmed that we were indeed nearing the end, but that perhaps we should try one last steroid shot. I agreed, and Beamer had a really good 3 weeks, eating like a little machine and getting lots of love and attention.
But yesterday morning, I knew it was time. She’d been so special for us all. She’d fought long and hard. She was tired. So we went again to see Dr. M. I held her close as the calming medication took effect, stroking her head and thanking her for being such a good girl. For helping to patch my heart all those years ago. Owen gave her a kiss and told her he loved her. And then, the final shot, and sweet Beamer was gone.
On the short drive home, the Proclaimers “I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles”) played on the radio; a song my beloved Pop-Pop liked. And I knew he was telling me that he had welcomed her, and would hold her close in heaven.
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