about sam

 

My cat Sam passed away yesterday. He was 15 years old and the most amazing cat I‘ve ever known. This is my memorial to him, and perhaps a bit of healing therapy for me. So if you’re not into sappy sentimental love stories about a girl and her cat you may just want to pass on by this entry……cause more than likely that’s the direction it’ll be heading.

I saw him first 14 years ago in the “death row” section of a nearby Humane Society. My mom and I had visited so that she might adopt a new kitty, and she’d insisted on choosing from only the full grown cats who were closest to being put to sleep if they didn‘t find a home. When we walked into the small overcrowded room filled with desperate-to-be-free meowing felines I noticed him first off. He was looking directly at me, not boisterous like most of the others, but quietly, gently, lifting both his white paws up high against the wire cage he was enclosed in, as if to say, “pick me, pick me”. When I stuck a finger through the cage to touch his fur he nuzzled up against it and purred. I can honestly say it was love at first sight between us.

My mom was on the other side of the room befriending an affectionate gray kitty when she looked over at me. She smiled and said, “you should adopt him”. I emphatically told her no, I wasn’t ready. I’d lost a cat traumatically a while prior to that and still didn’t feel up to opening my heart to another.

After a good while of Mom and I interacting with all the cats, we both ended up in front of the cages of the ones who’d first caught our attention. She with the gray cat, and me talking once more to Sam. My mom signaled to the assistant working there that she was ready to adopt, and then in the strangest turn of events she walked over to where Sam and I were and announced, “I’ll take this one”.

I questioned her as to why…….she normally wasn’t drawn to orange cats at all. (I always felt this maybe had something to do with their color being too close to her own red hair.) She had no real answer for me, simply saying he seemed terribly sweet and it “felt right”.

For the next year he lived with her and was a wonderful companion to her living alone as she did. But on my frequent visits to her home it was clear he and I had a special bond. The minute I arrived he’d greet me warmly and sit on my lap as Mom and I drank tea and talked, and always she would ask me, “Cynthia, when are you going to adopt a cat for yourself?” Not ready, I always responded.

It was exactly a year after she’d brought him home that my mom suddenly became very ill and passed away weeks later. Sammy came to live with me as I believe was intended all along, and he truly helped me through the most difficult time of my life. I’ve known and loved cats always, but never experienced the sort of deep love and connection and calming comfort I’ve shared with my sweet Sam.

Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I try always to subscribe to the latter. I don’t know whether a mother unknowingly choosing a cat for her daughter before she passes away really classifies as a miracle. Nor do I know whether the unique and unusual bond I shared with Sam qualifies as miracle material either. Maybe the real miracle is simply having the openness…..the vision, to recognize the subtleties of potential miracles that are always hovering nearby: small, sometimes furry glimmers of light and hope and love found in places that seem the darkest.

My heart is breaking and tears keep escaping as I write this now, feeling the immenseness of the hole that my Sam’s departure has left. But at the same time I’m overflowing with gratitude for what I perceive as an eternal gift from my mother……the miracle of a cat named Sam, and the reminder of a compassionate universe that is always watching out for its children. I intend to keep these salty, stinging, tear-crusted eyes wide open, my multi-scarred fragile heart in receiving mode, and my senses sharp, so that I may notice the delicate descent of even the tiniest miracle, from all those floating in the air around me.

 
~Cynthia

 
The images posted here were taken 3 weeks ago. I’ll remain thankful for the baby whose fussiness caused an abrupt end to her photo session, leaving a few frames left on a roll of film that came to be the last images of Sam.