Selma has been with us for just over a year. It seems like she's always been ours.
Let me amend that... we've always been hers.
I've had pet cats in my life since I was four. The college years and early years of my first marriage were the only times I couldn't find a cat in my world and I always missed having one.
At one time, Howard and I had two...then Mitzi was pulled from a storm drain outside our condo and she became number three. I loved that cat and she loved me (and no one else), so when she died in 2017, I swore my pet days were over. No way I would go through that kind of grief again. No way could another cat replace Mitzi.
Then our neighbors moved in with their cat, Maddie. She was the same breed as Mitzi...same coloring, same everything...except she wasn't my cat. So I started thinking about adopting a kitty...an older one, no doubt, since at 80 years of age, I didn't want a kitten who would definitely outlive me.
And that's when I found Selma. Her photo on the Burlington County Animal Shelter web page tugged at my heart. She was thin and sad-looking. She needed someone to love and care for her.
So we went to meet her and it was mutual love at first sight. She is the most affectionate and loving kitty with whom I've ever shared space. We love her without condition, despite medical bills and unrelenting carpet scratching.
My best friend since we were in second grade is a dog person. She's had dogs as long as I've known her, each one lavished with love and care. And one by one, she's lost them to age or illness, each taking a piece of her heart as they crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Two years ago, she lost Pepper, a loving yellow lab. He left my friend with his sister, Ginger, to soothe the loneliness and keep her company.
Last week, she lost Ginger, too. Wanting to stay with my friend was overcome by old age and illness. And now comes the hard part we've all experienced when a furry loved one leaves.
The grieving is especially poignant and hard when you live alone and have relied on the support and simple presence of a pet. The longer they are with you, the deeper the loss. My friend says she still looks for Ginger in the house, still feels she's still there.
That's because she is. I believe our pets love like we do. Their spirits are very much alive, even when they're not physically with us. So Pepper and Ginger, like Mitzi and so many of my other cats, have left their love behind to console us.
I remember how Mitzi reacted every time she saw me cry. I don't do that often, but when I did, she nudged my hand with her little face, curled up next to me as close as she could get and purred so loudly she could be heard in another room. She knew I was sad, or in pain, or just feeling blue, and her heart told her to help in the only way she could.
Pepper and Ginger, as well as every dog she ever had, did the same for my friend. They will always be there, ready to put their heads on her lap as they look at her with their loving eyes, telling her it'll be okay.
My heart aches for her and for everyone who loses a beloved pet. I hear people say, "it's only an animal," and I recoil in horror. Those of us who have been blessed with the love of a pet know so much better. We were given something our pets reserved for those who shared their hearts with them. We are the lucky ones, even though when we lose them, we suffer tremendous grief.
Thank you, Ginger, for staying with my friend as long as you could.
