For the Love of Athena

Today is the first anniversary of the last time I saw Athena. Before I left our house one year ago today to have neck surgery I kissed her goodbye, told her that I would be home soon, and for her to stay out of trouble. It never even entered my mind that by the time I would come home three days later she would be dead.

My wife believes that people don't choose their pet, but rather that the pet chooses them. That notion proved itself to me the day Athena stepped out of the box we brought her home in. She was the first of the three kittens to venture out, and before investigating her new surroundings she walked right up to me, looked me in the eye and meowed as if introducing herself. It was the first indication that she had selected me to be her new papa.

Even before Athena officially became a member of our family, she always showed great interest in whatever it was I was doing. If I had my computer apart, Athena was right there batting at the screws, or poking around inside the case. Once while installing a doggie door so that she and the other cats could get into the garage whenever they wished, Athena was there with me, playing with my measuring tape and pawing at the stencil I used to draw the outline of the door as if to help me hold it in place. Even the sound of the saw I used to cut the opening didn't scare her away, and when she became too much of a pest, or was simply just in my way, I would pick her up and move her, but she would just come right back to investigate the whole operation.

She would let me cradle her like a baby, and the whole time I held her she would stare at me like she was in love. She would stay by my side throughout the night, and slept on my lap whenever she got the chance. She would come running when I called her name, and would play fetch with a paper ball. When I walked the dog in the morning, she would stand by the front door and cry until I returned. My mother-in-law stayed with us for a few days a while back, and mentioned how every day Athena would sit in the window towards the end of the day staring outside, and then just before I came home she became excited and started to cry. That explained why whenever I came home from work it was her little face I saw in the crack of the door when I opened it.

She knew when I was depressed, and would lay on my lap and purr. Once, when I was sick, I had a coughing fit, and she ran into the room, jumped on my chest as I lay in bed, and looked me straight in the eye as if examining me so as to reassure herself that I was OK. When I said, "I'm OK, Mama," she jumped down off the bed, but didn't leave the room. It was obvious that she just loved to spend time with me.

I always worried about mama. I would hold her close in the mornings before I left for work and would tell her to not leave the house. Ever. I would tell her that if there was danger in the house, for instance a fire, that she should run outside and climb up a tree and wait for me to come home. She would just stare at me as I told her these things, and I never could figure out if she understood, or just thought I was insane for thinking she might. I guess deep down I just knew she was not going to be in my life for long.

She was strictly an indoors cat, but she was possessed with great curiosity about the world she lived in, and she would often gaze out the window studying the part of her world she was forbidden to explore. Being forbidden certainly didn't stop her from trying. She would sometimes dart out the front door when people would come or go, but when she learned how to open the back sliding glass door, I really started to worry about her safety. I let everyone in the house know that she was able to get out through the back door even if it were left open only a crack. The sliding glass door is heavy, but I watched how Athena stuck her paw in a space between the door and the door jamb that was no more than a quarter inch wide, and spread it open far enough that she could finally get her head, and then her entire body through the door.

In the end, mama was a victim of her own insatiable need to explore the outdoors, and some careless act that allowed her to do so. I guess in hindsight there are a few things that could have been done differently to try and prevent her death at that time, but that sort of deliberation won't actually bring her back, and may not have really changed the course of events anyway. Besides, I often made requests of others in the house to try and head-off her escape, but those requests were never heeded and it is doubtful any further discussions would have been ignored like the rest.

Athena was a cat, and over the past year I have known people who have lost their parent, sibling, and child, and I suppose to most the loss of a pet is no comparison to the loss of a loved one. But to me, her loss was that of a loved one. In life, there are always a few souls who shape and influence our lives, for better or worse. The experiences they give us become part of what we are. They help define who we are and what we become. This is true not just of people in our lives, but of the animals we choose to share our lives with as well. The grief I feel is still terrible and deep a year later, and I don't see it letting up anytime soon. I look at pictures of my mama and long to cradle her in my arms once again, and though I am a 6'2" man of 230 pounds, I cry. I have no children of my own, and so I imagine all that standard issue love that I would normally give to my child goes by default to my pets, which makes it just that much more tragic. Most likely all my pets will all die before I do, and I will need to deal with this grief again, and again. Hopefully though, the next time it will be after my pet has lived a long life. Hopefully I will not have been cheated out of their company and companionship like Athena and I were.

Sweet dreams, mama. I still love you.

Posted by Jeff at August 29, 2004 9:26 AM