Heaven is Wherever My Animals Are

....

I didn’t grow up religious, but there are a couple things I place all my faith in:

1. Being good feels good.

2. Being bad feels bad.

3. When you die, all the animals you’ve ever loved come running to greet you.

Thinking about #3 has helped me through some dark days of grief. Now, when I die and cross over to the other side, I have my arrival all planned out. 

Woody

Woody will spot me first. Here on Earth, Woody used to lay inside the door of my dad’s guitar shop, casting a stern gaze at all the passers-by. Each time I approached the shop, he’d narrow his wary eyes … until I got close enough for him to recognize me.

I’d wait for it … that precise, adorable moment when Woody spotted me from afar. His whole expression would change. His alert ears would drop. His squared shoulders would go soft. His eyes would go wide and bright as his mouth opened in a doggie grin.

Yes, when I die, Woody will make his wiggly way toward me first.

But Porter, my dear, angel Porter, won’t be far behind. When Porter and I shared an apartment, he slept on a futon in the spare bedroom all day while I was at work. I lived for the moment when I pushed open our back door each day. Porter, waking with a start, would burst out of his bedroom, slide sideways into view, then get tangled in his own Beagle feet as he did a quick, gleeful pivot in the foyer.

One day, I’ll see him come tumbling into to view again … then careen around the clouds, galloping, ears flapping, and diving into my arms. I can’t wait to feel his stocky little body and bury my nose in his turkey-dinner smell. 

Porter

(Oh Porter! I miss you most of all.)

Betty

Betty and Nookie, the regal ladies, will bring up the rear. Betty won’t be the crooked, sick old girl I said goodbye to. She’ll be the sleek, athletic Husky who used to race me down grassy hills — thundering past me in a joyful blur. That’s the Betty I’ll see again. Billy the brown dog, my first love, will take his polite place in line, and sometimes, I feel like I can't even wait.

It breaks my heart to think of it now, as she sleeps beside me, but by then, my beloved cat Firefly will be there too. Her health has been failing, and every day seems like a bittersweet reason to celebrate. I don’t want her to go, but when she does, I hope she waits for me, too.

I hope it with all my heart.  

Firefly

Blog for My Cat on the Eve of Her Surgery

My 16-year-old cat is having surgery tomorrow. I'm so nauseous and nervous about it, you would think that I'm the one having the operation.

So tonight, I'm typing this with one hand while the other one strokes Firefly's silky calico fur. I hope she can tell how much I love her, and that I want her to do well.

...

Firefly showed up as a stray kitten when I was a sophomore in college. It seemed like she picked me. I lived in a dorm and didn't have anywhere to keep her, so I stashed her at my then-boyfriend's house.

I didn't even drive yet. I rode a bus to the grocery store and picked out her first dishes, kitten kibble, little balls with jingle bells in them, and other cat stuff. The cashier had to explain to me that my new kitten wouldn't want to walk on the dog leash I'd picked out.

(Never fear. Years later, Firefly and I would hike Frick Park with the aid of a papoose. But more on that later.)

Firefly and I turned into grownups together. After college, she moved home to my parents' house with me. Our dog wanted to eat her, so I kept Firefly locked in my bedroom. She did okay in there, but she was a little starved for attention. When I got home from work at night -- my very first office job -- she'd start howling as soon as she heard me come through the front door.

I'd never had a cat before her, so I raised her like a puppy. We'd wrestle, or play fetch for hours.

She moved into my first -- terrible -- apartment with me. The one that smelled like curry and had mice living in the oven. She came with me every time I upgraded to a bigger, less disgusting place, and she also accompanied me on several beach vacations. She always took the 10-hour car ride to the Outer Banks in stride.

Firefly has been a constant presence. There were boyfriends, most of whom claimed to be allergic to her. Firefly always got first dibs on my bed anyway, and she outlasted all of them. And when I decided to embrace my spinsterhood, she was my most loyal companion -- even going for walks around the neighborhood with me, safely strapped into a papoose.

But when I found my husband, even Firefly knew it was right. She accepted him like a dad.

She was always a part of everything I did. Whether I was cleaning my apartment, lounging in front of the TV, hula hooping in my living room, or curling my hair in the bathroom, Firefly was curiously involved.  

But recently, a couple things seem to have aged poor Firefly.

She hates ... absolutely hates ... our new dog. And, she didn't adapt to our most recent move as well as all the others. We moved into a house last month. I took the bedroom that used to belong to a teenage girl and turned it into a haven for my teenage girl cat. Firefly settled in to her room and doesn't really like to come out of it. It makes me so happy when I see her take tentative steps into the rest of our house.

She also got really feisty. She hisses. A lot.

It's taken almost half my life, but I've watched her change from a kitten to a little old lady.

It's sad that we grew up together, but suddenly, she's aging so much faster than me. It doesn't seem fair.

I know a day will come when we have to say goodbye, and it makes me cry just typing it.

But I can tell that she still loves me.

Firefly, 10 minutes ago, proving that she's still got it.

This is my little prayer for you, Firefly. Please do well during your surgery tomorrow. Please come home to me.

I love you.

Beagles are so sincere.

I love having a foster Beagle.

Porter the paleontologist.

I asked my mom if she liked Porter, and she replied, "What's not to like?" It's as simple as that. He has such a sunny disposition. The little guy looks up at me with an expression that's so innocent, so hopeful, and so sweet. Every moment seems to give him such unabashed delight. It's a pleasure to watch him pad around.

He's also a quick learner. It's fun watching a creature who doesn't know anything about our world start to process and comprehend things. When I met him, he was afraid of me, toys, swinging doors and every household noise. Now he's gained confidence, knows his name, and obligingly obeys when I say "Come," "Wait," and "Sit."

He also knows a couple unique phrases...like when I'm cold and I want to go back inside, I say, "Time to go in," and he knows that he has to hurry up and decide which bush to pee on before he gets hauled back into the house. I can read the expression on his face as it changes to "Oh darnit, fine, I'll just pee here!"

Firefly the cat is making progress, too.

Look! She is ALMOST in the same room as the Beagle.

Firefly, my 13-and-a-half-year-old Butterscotch Calico, is not a friendly cat. She's sweet and lovable with me but get visibly pissed off when I have visitors. I did not expect her to adjust well to Porter. In fact, I thought she might present a dealbreaker, and I'd have to sheepishly end my foster period at the adamant behest of my cat.

My co-workers suggested that Firefly would "get used" to having a foster dog, but I couldn't make them understand that I didn't want her to have to suffer, even temporarily. I didn't even want to upset her for five minutes! She's a cranky cat, but she's been by my side through thick and thin and I love her with all my heart.

Anyway, she's definitely pissed... Every day when the Beagle and I get home from work, Firefly runs to greet us at the door, discovers that Porter is still with me, and bristles as though she's saying, "Are you kidding me? Again?!" Then she storms off.

But I've developed a good routine, which Porter knows and obeys. Porter gets shut in his bedroom when Firefly eats, wants to cuddle with me, and goes to bed at night.

And to my huge surprise, having a foster dog has made my feisty cat friendlier! It's like she's competing for the attention that she used to take for granted. She'll now come out to socialize with guests, and when Porter is in his bedroom, Firefly climbs all over me, desperate for affection. I'm always very happy to give it to  her.

My muppet.

I've been thinking about the quote "Happiness [is] only real when shared." It might be a bit of a stretch to apply the sentiment to pet ownership, but my life feels significantly richer these days. I feel lots of love, and I feel like I want to give it to others. I feel more patient. I feel less concerned with trivial worries. I feel more like myself.

Thanks, foster Beagle!