Farewelling Selene

Farewelling Selene

While we waited for the vet to come, 

I thought I’d take one last photo.

Usually she turned her eyes 

away from the flash, 

but this time she gazed into mine

with an intense look of love. 

Of course it wasn’t the last. 

We went outside. She liked us to sit

together in the garden. I took some more

but she seemed uncomfortable

on the concrete step. I scooped her up

like a floppy rag and put her back

on the mat inside the door 

where she could still look out,

and took another. She gave me

that deliberate look once more – fixed,

but so different from the fierce, wary gaze 

when she came to me three years ago....

Three years and eight weeks,

already not young....

I sat near, at my computer,

but then I just began talking to her –

I dunno, whatever was on my mind 

about how I’d like her to be my familiar

in spirit now, but of course 

it was up to her, what she wanted, her choice, her 
happiness the most important thing.

She listened. Then she got up – you have to know 

she was very uncomfortable, very weak –

walked over to me and let her head

lightly graze my dangling, reaching hand.

Again it was deliberate, purposeful. 

And she went back to her spot on the mat. 

Later I pondered how she knew and gave me 

what I wanted, what I needed.

It’s funny – as soon as she was gone

(gently and quickly via a kind vet)

between my sobs I suddenly knew

that strong, wise voice I’d been hearing

in my head was hers, her soul. All

the realisations I’d had were imparted

intentionally. So far they haven’t stopped.

She used to nag me about meal times

and bed-times – not hers, mine. (Albeit

she was happy to join me.) I’ll have to 

take care of myself now, I thought.

Then I decided to light a candle

and say the prayer for the dead, wishing

peace and light for her journey.

Only it was late (speaking of bed-time). What if, 

while I slept, something caught alight? Perhaps 

if I put it in a big bowl, even a saucepan? Just then

my smoke alarm pealed loudly, even though 

I hadn’t yet lit the flame. I bashed it

with a broom handle. It stopped a moment

then started up again. OK, I said, I get it.

I won’t burn the candle tonight. The noise stopped.

I turned and caught one glimpse

of a tall being of light, right there in my kitchen …

just for a moment. But all evening I heard little sounds

as if she was playing with her toys – the jingly bells,

the rustlings – though she had not in life 

played with them for many months 

as she aged and rested (walking a bit stiffly 

with arthritis). Nevertheless I heard her playing now: 

the sound of those toys (which didn’t in fact 

move from their stash) being tossed and batted.

None of this stopped me howling and wailing.

I slept surprisingly soundly afterwards. Now 

I’m calmer, though it catches me sometimes.

I keep noticing the many tiny ways

I was always looking out for her comfort, her safety.

I can’t walk down the passage without

glancing into the laundry to check her litter tray.

Which is not there any longer. I gave it,

along with the toys, the carry-case, left-over food,

to Friends of the Pound. She was
my seventh cat. I’ll let that magic number

be the last. I know I can’t do this any more, 

even though a couple of friends already

told me of cats needing rescue. No. 

Not me, not again. She was final.

5-6/3/19

Selene left this life on Monday 4th March 2019, 
just four weeks short of 11 years old.

More prosaic details at my SnakyPoet blog: 
https://snakypoet.blogspot.com/2019/03/goodbye-to-selene.html

Linking to The Tuesday Platform for March 12 at 'imaginary garden with real toads'