Prudence

Eight years ago this morning, around 4 or 5 a.m., we woke to the sound of barking, but we didn't have a dog. Our beautiful cat, Prudence, appeared to be choking to death. She dragged herself into the hallway; we got out of bed and followed. I hopped on the computer, seeking guidance for what to do for a choking cat. Prudence continued to suffer, and eventually flopped into a ridiculous position, up against the hallway wall. I didn't see it, but the position was ridiculous enough that Sandy laughed. I yelled out instructions to swing her by her back legs, and when that didn't help, Sandy laid the cat on the floor next to my desk while she ran to get dressed. I called the emergency vet, and they had me blow on her ears. Nothing. She was dead. Her death throes probably occurred when she ended up in the silly position. We morbidly joked a few days later about Sandy swinging a dead cat.

Prudence always hung out in the garden with us, even after she
wanted to go inside. She really loved the blue 8' ladder we had
in the garden as part garden art/part trellis.

The entire drama probably lasted under ten minutes, but it felt like my world had split open in that time. That was the first time I ever keened. I loved (and love) that cat; she was my constant companion. She was the ubercat. Everyone loved her. I couldn't believe that such a life could go so suddenly.

Later we realized she'd had congestive heart failure for some time. As I read about it, I could recognize the symptoms in hindsight. I was just as glad we hadn't known. She didn't suffer much from it, just slowed down. She was herself through her last day of life, and as far as we could tell, suffered only those last few minutes. But I was left to wonder how I'd do yoga without her help, play the piano without her company, garden without her always within reach.

Prudence appeared in my dreams frequently for the first several months after she died. Not just random dreams. I now know they were visitation dreams. In my dream, someone would compliment her as she crossed through the room, and I'd say, "Yes, it's too bad she's died." I rarely see her now, but I found great comfort in those dreams at the time.