Almost exactly a year ago, a precious friend left this life forever. Abner was an amazing cat who carved out a big space in my heart. On the surface, we might have appeared as casual acquaintances who did not quite know what to make of one another. Sometimes there was an air of inconvenience to the whole thing. Other times there was a feeling of deep respect and care. The relationship, in general, must have looked very one-sided with me bending to meet his needs. All are true and help set the stage for our story.
I first saw Abner about two and a half years ago, soon after moving into my home. This poor little guy wore the guise of extreme distrust and loathing of so many street cats living a rough and tumble lifestyle. Despite this, it did not take long for Abner to make his presence known. He would appear on my deck regularly and gaze through the window to the dismay of my cat Opie.
Clearly, Abner was looking for a meal and was likely getting regular handouts from the previous owners. Whenever he showed up, I made sure he got a good, hearty meal. I simply did not have the heart to turn him down even though his presence was causing a few problems.
I always wondered where Abner came from and how he got here. I did not mind him coming around, being a sucker for an animal in need, and he knew it. After months of regular visiting, one day I noticed Abner had not been here in a long while and realized he was likely gone for good. I must admit I felt partially relieved, yet, saddened.
Many months later, out of the blue, he turned up. I was surprised at how happy I was to see him. I believe it was late autumn. He did not seem well at all. He had clearly lost weight. His breathing was labored and audible. His nose and eyes were crusted over to the point that I wondered how he could breathe and see.
After offering food, which he devoured, I immediately set to work constructing a little den for him in my garage. The day was cold and much colder days were on their way. The structure was made of two cardboard boxes; one inside a larger one with plastic bags stuffed into the space between them for insulation. The outside of the den was draped with a thick fleece blanket for warmth. The inside was complete with a body activated heating pad, a down coat, an alpaca blend scarf, and a fleece neck gaiter. This way, Abner could cuddle in and take refuge from the elements in his very own cozy and warm accommodations. With plenty to eat, he could survive the winter in relative comfort.
He loved his little den and I often found him there when walking to my car. If I got too close for comfort, he would run to the back of the garage for emotional cover. I always made a point to reassure and talk to him. Eventually, he let his guard down a bit and I could approach him within a few feet without him scurrying away.
Over time, Abner grew more comfortable in my presence. By mid-spring, he would let me walk right up to him whenever I brought his meals, which was several times a day. At this point, he would not eat much at one sitting. So, I would bring out mini meals to avoid raccoons eating whatever Abner did not.
One evening in May, I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of Abner’s labored breathing on my back deck. I wondered if he was asking me to do something more to help him. Abner was looking extremely thin. I knew he could not feel very well even though he seemed to relish lazing the warm sunny days away. As he grew progressively worse, I worried about finding him dead, or worse, never seeing him again and fretting over what might have happened. I had tried several times to humanely trap him so he could be taken to a veterinarian. He would have none of it, though, and thwarted my every attempt.
One morning, while setting down his first meal of the day, Abner head-butted my leg to my great surprise! He looked up at me expectantly instead of eating his food. I grabbed a pair of garden gloves, just in case, and decided to gently pet him. He began purring up a storm and leaned into me. He clearly loved the attention. I wondered if he had ever experienced the loving touch of a human being. If he did, perhaps it was a very distant memory.
I was shocked, having never touched him, at how thin he was, literally skin and bones. His longer coat disguised the reality. Every day, Abner was eating less and growing weaker. For the next three days, I gave Abner as much attention and affection as I could. He trusted me now and on the third day after making the connection, I decided to pick him up. He seemed to like that too. He must have weighed a few slight pounds. It broke my heart.
On Tuesday morning, May 28, 2019, I felt it was time to get Abner to a veterinarian. I picked him up and easily put him in a cat carrier. There was no struggle and no complaint even after the door was closed and latched.
I drove Abner to the vet while listening to soothing music. Although he freaked out a bit at the veterinarian’s office, Abner did well, considering everything, and let me comfort and pet him when we were the only two in the room.
The veterinarian came back with expected and sad news. Even though he was free of the typical feline diseases, she suspected cancer or some other terminal illness. We both decided that the kindest thing for Abner would be to humanely let him go. I talked to him, wished him well, and cried as he peacefully drifted away. His suffering finally ended. I knew this was the right thing to do. Yet, wished I could have given him more of the love and attention he so deserved.
The next day I was telling a friend about my experience. I expressed that I felt Abner came back to me because he knew I would help him. She agreed and kindly told me that I gave Abner the gift of being seen, something everyone wants. And, because he was seen, he really lived. Her message was touching and gave me tremendous comfort.
I never knew whether Abner was male or female. That was not important. What really mattered was our friendship. Although, tenuous and brief, our connection was a special gift. I consider him one of my precious pets and will always remember him. The last thing I said to Abner was, “I expect to see you at the Rainbow Bridge.” I hope he understood what that means. I really do.
