I think it’s time.
He’s tired, he’s so very tired, and he’s old, and he’s been on this planet nearly two decades, a marathon for a cat, such a long time.
This sweet kitty pressed his paws into my palm for so many timeless times, holding hands in his little kitty way, cuddling under my arm and looking into my face sometimes, just looking, just watching, just seeing if I was there.
His fur, once glossy and smooth and soft, is matted now with tangles; he has not eaten for several days and can’t even drink any more.
It’s Friday night. Tomorrow I’ll go to a first aid class — part of my fost/adopt parent licensing requirements — and then I’ll take him on what I fear will be his last journey.
It’s a good weekend here in Arizona. The skies are clear and lucent, the air fresh but not bitter with cold. Birds are coming back and early flowers are peeking out of the toneless khaki of the desert in winter.
I’m not ready for this. I wasn’t ready for it with Mira either, when I knew it was due, when I knew there was no other path for us to take. We create our own samsara; we make our own suffering — at least most of the time.
We’re never ready for the last. We’re never ready to lose these sweet warm life companions. The idea of Rainbow Bridges is lovely but not plausible and the certainty of the permanent parting lies heavy on my heart.
But he is so thin and light, starving, dying; only two weeks ago he rested beside me and cuddled as he always did, purring gently and seeking, petting, pawing, kneading, looking up to see if I knew he was still there, and I kissed his furry head and told him I loved him, and he rested beside me, fragile and beautiful and hopelessly impermanent.
Spring brings life and the promise of future, but my little grey bed biscuit can’t hold on any more, and I will not require it of him. If he whispers to me, if he tells me what I think is in his heart, I’ll know it — and I won’t let him be alone when the day wanes forever in his sight.
I’m going to talk to him, I’m going to ask him, I’m going to hold his hands and let him know that if it’s time, I’ll be there for him.
He was always there for me.
20:43 on March 2nd, 2007
Crap, Warren. I’m so sorry.
I do love that second, high-drama action clip of Mira and Sputnik.
He seems like a sweetie. Thank you for taking good care of him.
21:31 on March 2nd, 2007
Ha! High drama. Yes, wrestling to see who would be the laziest. So very cat.
So very my cat.
He loved to slide under the covers by me. He was insistent. He’d paw at the blankets (usually at 3 AM or so) and try to burrow until I got the drift and lifted the covers, and he’d nuzzle beside me and sleep … for about an hour or so and then clamor to be let OUT again.
I’m pretty sure cats — well, if they can’t read clocks, they know apes pretty well, and they seem to coordinate their “issues” with apeish monkeyish timeish clockish perversities. And they seem to be very insouciant about the effects of their needs, licking themselves casually as we rush about our lives just to please them.
I think I’m ready to be a dad; I’ve been well trained by very demanding, very intelligent and very devoted creatures who manage to hurt while they play at affection.
And I am tired of outliving the minds that I cherish.
Thanks, Chris. Thank you.
21:32 on March 2nd, 2007
I’m so sorry. Thank you for sharing with us. He has been your companion for a very long time. I know you will always treasure the time you had together.
My children really enjoyed seeing the videos you posted. Clara says “I feel sorry for you and your cat.” Keegan says “I do, too.” These smileys are for you from Clara:
:-) 
Keegan says “Make sure he dies happy.” Clara adds “I do, too.” This rose is from Clara for Spunik: @}–’—,— Keegan leaves you with “Good Luck.”
21:50 on March 2nd, 2007
Carol, Keegan, Clara — thanks.
Keegan: He will be in my arms when his life ends. He will be right next to me, and I will pet him. I’ll tell him he is always my sweet grey thing, that he is always my Bed Biscuit, and he is always my Pooty Poot little Putnik.
Clara, the rose is very pretty. Thank you. But don’t feel too sorry; we’ve been together for so many years, and they’ve been very good years. My little kitty went from being a regular infuriating curtain-climbing kitten to a full-on predator who stalked bugs and ate birds to a satisfying, not-quite-fat but happy middle age into a geriatric state hardly reached by any members of his species. As cat lives go, his has been remarkable, extensive and very deep.
Best memory of Sputnik? When we were in Milwaukee and he saw geese for the first time. These birds easily outweighed him by two or three times, and he didn’t know whether to stalk them … or run away. “Ahh! Big fat birds! Gotta eat them! … But dang, they’re HUGE … what to do? What to do?”
He looked. It was safer that way.
He will hear my heart. He will know.
22:35 on March 2nd, 2007
Dear Warren,
Thank you so much for posting this. I too have a beautiful old grey “Bed Biscuit”, Ezra, who looks like he could be Sputnik’s cousin. Just last weekend, I almost lost him. He has kidney failure and got an infection he almost couldn’t fight. It was a terrible weekend with trips to the kitty ER and decisions to be made about whether to put him in the hospital for 24-hour fluid treatment. I was suffering so much until I remembered to just listen to him as you are doing with Sputnik. And when I finally let go of my attachment to what I was used to and was open to and present with what was ifopr us both, it became that beautiful poignant experience. He wanted to be home and so I nursed him in front of an almost constant fire (his favorite spot) and he pulled through. He is old though and I know we have far less time ahead of us than we have behind us. But it was so relieving - and such a lesson once again - to just pay attention. Clearly you are doing the same - Sputnik is blessed to have you.
So thank you for sharing your pictures and films and your love of Sputnik with us. It’s wonderful. What a beautiful being and precious companion.
I’m sure all of us who connect so deeply with these amazing soul-mates are sending you both love and support and some tonglen practice.
Peace and blessings to you both,
Mia and Ezra
23:51 on March 2nd, 2007
I am sorry to hear this. But there’s joy in a happy and loved life, however it may end.
0:36 on March 3rd, 2007
Oh Warren,
Thanks for sharing this, and the most personal thoughts about Sputnik. I know how hard it is to think about when “it’s time” to say goodbye. They do let you know. Having lost two dogs in two and a half years (and a 15-year-old bed biscuit kitty), it is never easy, and the hole in the heart is real.
7:48 on March 3rd, 2007
Thank you for describing this awful and precious time. You both and the spirit of Mira will be very much in my heart. I think of my wise 19 Year old Hitchcat passing 2 years ago this month and how he was at peace when I could be at peace with it.I believe he told me how he would return, and Mudita did wait for me to
find him the bext summer in a shelter.
So when the bond is so strong, If their work with you is not complete, I think
this happens. Maybe it is just the
instrinsic feline-ness that is shared but it is a comfort to me, in any case,
to see the personality traits they share.
This next paragraph is a practical suggestion, which I know everyone has at
a time like this, so just skip it if you are not wanting that. ANd know that
I send you the space that is love as best I can.
If the time is here that it is as natural for Sputnik to die as it is for a tired kitty to sleep, and if you do have to take him to the vet, it might
help if he could have alittle Valium in water before the trip, if the vet
doesnt offer pre=medication. It does not taste bad, and it does not have
adverse effects on cats…it just relaxes them and helps with pain, and it
does not take much,,maybe 1/2 of a mg…1/8 of a 10mg tablet helped my Lily
when she was terribly uncomfortable and couldnt eat and refused to go to the
vet after one time in the ER. [She was able to pull through that spell with
that and some other support...] The valium did not feel intrusive or foreign
to her. She was very decisional about when it would be good to take it.
11:06 on March 3rd, 2007
I’m so sorry to hear of Sputnik…
My Heidi was 19 when she made the same journey…
I looked into her eyes at the last moment and told her that I will meet her on the other side…(wont be but a heartbeat darlin..)
How we will explore the universe, eat like pigs, and nap like champions… 2 years now and I miss that little mutt like the dickens…
be strong…
17:37 on March 3rd, 2007
We know and love Sputnik, too. He sneaked his way into our hearts, one whisker at a time. Just like a cat. We wish him whole again; alas, it seems this is not to be. This time weighs heavy on us for you.
7:52 on March 5th, 2007
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7:53 on March 5th, 2007
Thanks, all. I appreciate everyone’s expressions of sympathy.
He died peacefully Sunday morning.
8:37 on March 5th, 2007
Hey Warren - thanks for sharing. I’m so sorry about your loss, having had my share of critters in my life and losing many, I know the pain. They bring such joy and laughter to our lives that it makes the pain of losing them a little easier to bear when we remember the smiles. Hang in there!
10:04 on March 5th, 2007
Warren — What a beautiful and loved life Sputnik had! I know how you feel because I had a dog I was very close to. He used to put his paw on me when I would cry and he’d look away as if to say “I’m not gonna stare at you while you cry, I just want you to know I am here.” His name was Tigger. He was fun to play with and very smart. He used to love to chase cars, yes, I did say “chase”! We lived out in the country on about 25 acres of land and were surrounded by family on almost all sides - so he was free to roam. He lived a very good life until the very end.
Eventually, we moved to a house in the city. It didn’t have a fence and my parents didn’t want to build one. We left Tigger with my grandmother. Two mean-spirited boys that I hate to this day, knew that we moved and thought we had abandoned Tigger (I still haven’t forgiven my parents for that). So, they took it upon themselves to hunt him down and shoot him. Then, they came to school and laughed about it to me and the entire homeroom class. Our teacher had to yell at them to get them to shut up about it. A traumatic experience. But the worst of it all is what must Tigger have thought…I know he must have felt unloved in the end.
You did right by your sweet kitty!! I hope to have that chance someday myself.
18:26 on March 5th, 2007
I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. I’ve had several cats in my life, and share your pain is losing a loving and wonderful friend.
1:14 on July 28th, 2007
[...] When my eighteen-year-old cat Sputnik died a few months ago, I dug his grave by hand, buried him and am still mourning. I loved that sweet old cat. The worst part for me, apart from the fact that I wasn’t actually there to pet him in his final moments as he died like I was for Mira, was when I placed his stiffening, cooling little body in the cone-shaped hole and felt his back legs press against the wall of soil; I feared that his delicate, dead legs would break; and as I thought of the times he had cuddled under the sheets with me, curling next to my chest and saying murr at me, I felt a little piece of myself, my self, tear open and bleed. [...]