Difficult Writing

By Robin Weaver

I didn’t think my most difficult writing assignment was going to be difficult.  About a year after my cat Kiko had died, the Genre-ista monthly theme was “If Animals Could Talk.” So naturally, I decided to write about a talking cat—my recently-deceased talking cat. This is that blog.

Kiko the Wonder Cat

Well, okay, Kiko the Magnificent couldn’t actually talk—actually she rarely meowed—but that little kitty communicated with me on a far more complex level. To show you what I mean…

Once, I was watching a movie with my husband, and got up, for apparently no reason. He asked, “Where’re you going?”

The question startled me. I wasn’t exactly sure. Without thinking, I replied, “The cat needs some water.”

Then I headed upstairs, almost trancelike (okay, maybe I exaggerate a bit about my zombie state).  There she sat. Patiently waiting by her water bowl.

During the seven wonderful years Kiko allowed me to live in her house, there were daily incidents similar to the one above. I seemed to “know” I needed to move a pillow off a chair because Kiko had decided to sit there instead of her usual spot. A thought would pop in my head and I’d go get a blanket. Kiko would snuggle beneath it, as if she’d requested it. I’d stop writing and go remove that tee shirt that had somehow ended up covering her food.

How else, other than mental telepathy, could a cat learn to fetch? Yes, if I threw a toy small enough for her to carry, she’d retrieve the item and bring it back to me. Even more impressive, she liked to play hide-and-seek, always hiding before I got to ten and always tagging me before I found her.  I didn’t teach her that game. I never rewarded her with treats for behavior. Somehow, I just knew that’s what she wanted to do.

So, it was very weird I didn’t know she was sick.  I had no sense of her disease, only noticing when she stopped eating.  I know what you’re thinking. Cats are very good at masking illness. Maybe, but that cat and I were synched.  I should have known.

Our mental connection sometimes freaked my husband out. But you see, my husband was also very sick. Dying actually. I’m convinced my little kitty wanted to spare me more pain. When I took her to the vet, she said Kiko wouldn’t live more than a month. My cat stayed on this earth for another four months, hanging in there to get me through a horrific time. She spent most of that time in my lap, looking at me with those beautiful green eyes, projecting the same thought: it will be all right.

A year later, tears are welling in my eyes as I write this. But I’m also smiling.  I can still sense Kiko. And she’s saying, “See. It’s all right.”

Eight years later, this blog still makes me need to blink. Repeatedly.  But you know what, even in the midst of the COVID chaos, it is all right.

Stay safe, stay healthy.
Robin