Mira the Rest of the Story.
by Tary Brown
copyright 2021
Mira was our steadfast companion and best friend for the past 18 years. She was
there to help us wipe away our tears when our health issues seemed unbearable. Or
to hold our hand with her little paws, squeezing tightly to let us know
everything would be alright. She’d listen intently to everything you said and took
it all to heart. I believe she understood every word. Everyday at 4pm she would
wait for me to call my mommy so she could talk to her and listen to her voice. It was beyond endearing. She was an
old soul who seemed to have a deeper understanding about the universe. She had a sixth sense. She loved to balance
herself on the top edges of chairs like a dare devil walking a tight rope.
She’d sit there gleefully content while we fussed she might fall off. She was
always underfoot to the point of distraction and we found ourselves trying to
avoid stepping on top of her, which was exhausting. If she found a spot she liked it was hers and you better figure out how to
get around her cause she refused to budge. When her sister passed a year ago
Mira helped my hubby and I find a new normal. She’d wait each night to jump up
into bed with us, getting frustrated, if we didn’t do it at a reasonable hour. First thing in the morning her blankie was a
mess from me tossing and turning but Mira would be clinging to it waiting for
me to straighten it out. I’d give her a big hug scooping her up to fix it. And
she’d give me kisses. When she went blind it didn’t deter her. She plowed
forward using her whiskers and nose to guide her where she wanted to be. Life
was good. And we were inspired by her chutzpah. Then she went blind in the other eye. She became disoriented. But muddled through with our prompts to be careful, so she wouldn't walk into things. But fate dealt her a blow that
stopped her in her little tracks. Her back legs refused to operate the way they
were meant to. And her kidneys and bladder failed. She stopped eating. But her little face would still try lapping up water in her dish. At this point we thought she
would pass sooner rather than later. But she refused to let go. Her
determination was more than admirable. She somehow, someway found the fortitude
to force her little legs into a standing position and walk a few feet here or
there before collapsing onto the floor. She’d pick herself up and do it again
and again. She’d listen to my mantra as she was tackling the impossible. She
needed to rest, all her strength was being tapped. I’d tell her to be very,
very calm and breathe breathe breathe. And she would purr as she entered a kind of hibernation mode. She would lay very, very still listening to the celestial music I played for her. Overwhelmed
with emotion, one night I played Amazing Grace on my cell phone, instead. Her little ears
twitched as we all listened, tears pouring down my hubby's and my face. When the song had reached it climatic conclusion, I
reached down to caress her head and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a tiny
smile cross her lips. The song had touched her. I was glad. That knowledge was her gift to us, at the end. When she woke up later, I cradled her like a baby. But it became
clear it was time for us to let her go and for her to let us go. She passed the next morning. Mira you were
the best kitty in the whole world, in the whole universe. We loved you with all
our hearts. You will forever be etched within our memories. You were a good
girl. Let your spirit soar. You can run and play free from the shackles of your ravaged body. Be happy. You are now reunited with your sister Dara. And one day, mommy and daddy will meet you there too, on the other side.
REST IN PEACE
