Today, we made the hard decision to put Mileena to sleep. She was over 16 years old. I've tried to accept the inevitability of today for the past few months -- maybe even for the past year -- but really, I've just been in denial about having to make this choice at all. When you've had a cat for that many years, you just assume she will always be with you -- padding around the house, scampering after a cat nip-laced toy, and leaping lightly onto the bed each night.
Mileena and her sister Kitana came to live with me and Chris Allen when we lived in Marion, Kansas, in 1998. We hadn't even been married for two years at that time, and we were excited to have our first pet. Because we wanted a cat, we assumed we would just get one -- one little kitten from the many litters that seemed to always erupt from homes in our small town. However, when my co-worker appeared at our door with two mewling kittens in November 1998, we immediately knew that we had to have both of them. We named them Kitana and Mileena for... what else? The twin sister ninjas in the arcade game Mortal Kombat II. (That requires another post alone. More later.) The tiny, just-weaned sisters explored their new home with the tentative, clumsy steps that all kittens have. As Christmas neared, we often found both of them cuddled up together on the tree skirt. Thankfully, they were too small to climb the tree, so we managed to avoid typical kitten disasters.
When the cats were little, we tried to keep them contained to a back room of the house so they wouldn't roam during the night. I think that lasted less than a week. They learned to push open the old kitchen door that never latched and make their way to our room. One night, I woke up with a warm pile of kittens sleeping on my chest. They had literally found my heart.
When Chris and I moved to Emporia about a year later, they enjoyed their new home, an apartment with a long hallway. This, of course, allowed them to sprint after one another in heated bursts of play-fighting. I'm sure our neighbor downstairs could hear them when they pounded the floor with their paws and made an exceptional racket. And then, just a year and half later, in 2001, we made our journey to Illinois. Kitana and Mileena were true troopers of travel, enduring a carrier for the nine-hour trek to Champaign. Thankfully, when we moved to our home in 2006, they only had a short twenty-minute jaunt across town. Throughout all of this time, our cats were just simply there -- scuttling a milk ring or little toy mouse across the floor, cuddling on the couch, jumping into a lap when one of us worked at the computer, lounging on a table and playing with a pen, and tucking themselves into the curve of a body or the crook of a knee at bedtime. Those of you who know and love cats understand how comforting their presence can be.
In May of 2008, Chris died suddenly of a cardiac arrest, and life instantly shut down for me, only to restart as something I didn't understand or even want to accept. However, what stayed the same in the midst of chaos and death was the presence of two loving cats. They witnessed what no other friend or family member did. They alone sat by my side and looked up at me as if to say, "We are still here." They came with me to Greenville when I started my new job, and for the past 5 1/2 years, they nurtured my broken heart, shared my space, took a few trips to Kansas and St. Louis, and they have loved Jesse. Kitana and Mileena not only found my heart, but they found his as well.
Mileena (like Kitana) was what is called a tortoiseshell cat, or a "Tortie." I have loved the unique, crazy patterns of our cats' fur -- they look like dark calico, and even have some siamese features. Every time I teach Gerard Manly Hopkins' poem "Pied Beauty," I have always described my cats to my students as an example of the opening line: "Glory be to God for dappled things...."
"Pied beauty," indeed. We have to accept the dark with the light.
Mileena has been losing weight steadily for the past year. We've tried hyperthyroid drugs, in addition to her daily medication for bladder stones, but she's never managed to put on more weight. If she eats anything other than dry cat food, then it comes back up. Although she was doing well over Christmas and New Year's, the past week showed her in excessive decline. She was so much weaker, barely moving from the living room chair. She wanted to eat but couldn't -- everything seemed to come back up. Her eyes were dull and sad, if I'm honest with myself. When she did move, she paced around the kitchen, looking at me with unspoken needs. I kept trying to determine what she wanted, but I was ultimately denying what I knew: She was ready to go.
This morning, we made that hard decision. It was all very peaceful for Mileena, and I'm so thankful for the veterinary hospital for being so calm and nurturing through the process. We have opted to have her cremated with her name on the box: Mileena Allen "Monkey" Sieger-Walls. (Jesse gave her the nickname Monkey after he first heard her high-pitched, sweet questioning of a meow -- "Do you have a monkey in your house?" he asked.) We cried so much at the hospital, but after we left, I felt such great peace and relief. She would no longer suffer, and while she was on earth for 16 years, I knew that those who loved her gave her a good life.
Many of you will just think, "It's only a cat." I have never understood how people can think of any companion as "only." There are many animals I would prefer to hang out with instead of people.
But then again, guess what? You are right. She was "only a cat," and thank God she was "only a cat." Thank God she was "only my companion." Thank God she "only saved my life." Thank God I saw love in "only a cat." When we are fortunate to find love in what is "only," in what others might deem small and insignificant, in what is "only a cat," then we are blessed beyond measure. The world has that much more hope for everyone. That I feel such sorrow for Mileena also allows me to rejoice for her peace and her love. The world is not all lost, and she is still a part of it. I am thankful that she was here, and I was lucky enough to know her.
Hopkins would have understood Mileena best, counting her among God's signs of "pied beauty":
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