This is the day my cat died and the day I thought she understood english. She had lost all her weight from cancer. She couldn’t keep food down and she was in pain. I made arrangements with my vet to have her euthanized at home with me. Uncharacteristically, Biko, my cat of seventeen years, who oddly never cared to look out windows, walked over to the window and observed the world. It was as though she understood the appointment I made with the vet on the phone.
I suffered for weeks. I cried until there was nothing. Biko witnessed my college years straight through to my late thirties. She was my joy and my heart. I remember this distinct feeling that the sadness was not only about her dying but it was the awareness that I would forget how much I loved her. I would forget what it was like for her to walk in the room and look up at me. Even with images and video, her physical absence steals emotional memory daily. So what does it mean to love IF love is stolen by time?