Rebirth and Death

Spring is a time of rebirth. It’s easy to understand why when we see grasses, plants, and flowers weave upwards through the soil, greening, budding, and flowering; birds laying their eggs in newly-built nests; and bear, deer, fox, and other creatures of the wild delivering their young into dens and deeply hidden places. But this spring has also been a time of death and dying. Frances’ mother died April 3 at age 93. I, too, lost an uncle and then an aunt this spring. They all lived good, long lives but death is always hard to embrace no matter how long-anticipated.

My cat Hiziki’s health (“Zeke”) is also failing. Three or four months ago he started drinking more water. Then he lost weight. In late May he ate a woodpecker and began to vomit, ceasing to eat or drink at all. Oh, how I’ve grieved! Zeke is the family member with whom I’ve lived longest. I moved away from my parents at age 17 but Zeke has been with me for 18, 19, or 20 years. His purr soothes my spirits daily. His beautiful green eyes hold my gaze with love, acceptance, and appreciation.

Zeke shared most of the eight years I lived alone in a Minneapolis apartment. Desperate for attention, he climbed into my lap and onto my keyboard each time I sat down to write at my computer. When I moved onto four and one-half acres of suburban land with Frances, he moved too. Initially frightened, he soon acclimated himself to the excitement of nighttime hunting. He let himself in and out of our front door by lying on his back and wedging his claws underneath the heavy wooden door until he could pull it ajar, flip quickly onto his feet, and run hurriedly inside.

One night Frances and I awoke to feel Zeke chasing a baby bunny across our bodies in bed. Another time he appeared after a battle that left part of one cheek torn away from his face. Though injured, his attitude was one of great pride and accomplishment. “You should see the other guy,” the look in his eyes said.

Our move to the woods north of Bayfield added new challenges. Zeke took to hunting in the wilderness with the same spirit of adventure that he’d shown in the suburbs. This time, though, he was coping with coyotes, wolves, and bears. The story of his face-off with a black bear our first spring here in the woods is described in a previous blog (“Lions and Tigers and Bears … Oh My!” June 30, 2007).

Several weeks ago while he was still unable to eat I found Zeke outside underneath a fern next to our house clenching a red squirrel between his teeth. Maybe he couldn’t eat, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him, dammit!

For the moment Zeke is stable. After a trip to the vet I decided not to use any additional measures to extend his life. No blood tests or x-rays, no fluids under the skin, no updated shots, no teeth pulled. I love and comfort him, give him daily reiki energy sessions, turn on the faucet in the bathroom tub when he wants to drink, and squeeze tuna water out of the can when he wants to eat.

This past month reminds me of the final days in both my father’s and mother’s lives. I was present with both of them when they died and my memories give me the strength to carry on with this beloved cat of mine. Though incredibly difficult and painful, I’m also grateful and filled with love and appreciation for this great grey creature—once 16 pounds—who continues to bring such joy to my life.