Zenobia died in my arms. Her tiny body could cary on no longer. She was always a petite little girl but in her final months, she dwindled away to next to nothing. Her spirit stayed strong even through her pain and suffering. I know that her strong spirit is one reason she held on as long as she did. The other reason is me.
Throughout her lifetime, Zenobia was my best friend, my progeny, my sidekick, my protector, my confidante. She understood me on levels which no human ever did, and I suspect, never will. We spoke an unspeakable language of the soul. When I felt ill or upset/depressed, and could not call aloud for her, I would call to her psychically- and she came trotting in- every time.
We had entire conversations without a spoken verbal language.
Zenobia also appeased me when I attempted meow-speak, although I could swear I heard her giggle at me under her tiny kitty breath.
She was interested in literature. I kid you not, she enjoyed reading. And by reading, I mean she sat next to me or on my lap as I read, listened to the words as I said them in my head and even had her personal preferences as per genre and authors she enjoyed. As a tiny kitty, I went through this mystery novella jag reading “The Cat Who...” series. An outspoken siamese helps his human solve mysteries, and the author went to great lengths to alliterate the kitty's spoken yips and maws.
When I read those words, Zenobia would imitate- aloud- the cat's chat in the book. It was absolutely darling. And entirely brilliant.
Zenobia proved the adage “BIG things sometimes come in small packages.” Maxing out at maybe 5.5 lbs., ZZ was always dainty and light on her feet. With a bold attitude, she would defy gravity and perform wacky tricks. Her fetching skills were worthy of a kennel club event. As an amateur acrobat, watching her static flips, often from a stand-still starting position, would impress even the Cirque Du Blah Blah.
Like many a witchy familiar, she was always present for healing and divination and circle. And when it was bubble bath time, she was present. Dipping a paw or two into the water, tail swaying in as well was a regular pleasure for us both. Seeing as how I spend many hours soaking as I read, bath-time was also a special ritual.
Since her passing, I still feel her presence during those events. I feel her jumping up on the bed and siding close to me. Fletcher, her 20 year old mate, does too. There are even days when we both see her faded shadow run across the room. Weekly or so, I see the shower curtain move when I bathe. She lets me know she is here in spirit.
It was about 4 months ago, when I was experiencing a very trying time. I came into my room to lay down and unwind and was feeling tearful. I look down at my white blanket, and found a black whisker. Quickly, I dismissed it as mere coincidence. I went into the bathroom to wash my face and returned to find another one waiting for me where I found the first one. I have moved since Zenobia died. She never lived in this apartment with us. It is not possible that I found her whisker by chance as this blanket was newer as well.
Zenobia had black whiskers. Fletcher has white whiskers.
From beyond the veil, she left me a gift. Two actually. Those affirmations let me know that no matter the earthly space or time measured, we are always together.
9-3-1992 to 4-27-2011