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A veterinary technician with a subdued look on her face escorts Jack and me from the waiting area to an exam room at the All Cats Healthcare Clinic. She brings the patient, our 14 year old Abyssinian-tabby cat, Blondie, into the exam room. Blondie was was diagnosed with cancer about a month ago. We've been caring for her at home, with nutritional support and pain medication prescribed by the vet. When Blondie became extremely frail and seemed to be in constant pain not controlled by the analgesic, I decided to schedule her for a follow-up appointment at All Cats. I dropped her off at the clinic that morning on my way to work. The clinic called early in the afternoon to advise Jack that the prognosis is not good. There is a large tumor in Blondie's abdomen, and another in her jaw. She is suffering from an agressive type of cancer for which there is no treatment or chance of remission.

Blondie is curled up on a little blanket, and appears woozy from her analgesic. The tech places her gently on the exam table. I fold my arms around Blondie in a loving embrace.

I found her as a tiny stray kitten while vacationing in Key West in 1994. As I walked up the front steps of a museum to see an exhibit about a Spanish shipwreck, I spotted a litter of kittens huddled together beneath the steps. I kept thinking about those little cuties as I toured the exhibit. On the way out of the museum, I scooped up one of the kittens and carried her back to my hotel room. That was the beginning of my 14 year relationship with Blondie.

The vet comes in to the exam room and gives me a hug. She says Blondie told her today that she wants to go to kitty heaven. I am sad, but I realize that this is one of the responsibilitites of pet ownership. Pets trust their humans to take care of them, and sometimes this care includes relieving their suffering by letting them go. It is difficult to say goodbye. I have loved her completely, as much as any woman could love any cat.

The vet tells me that Blondie will always be with me, and that she will be chasing butterflies in the spirit world. She slowly administers the drugs that will allow Blondie to drift off to sleep. As the medication takes effect, I kiss Blondie's forehead and gently stroke her little platinum chin, which is the physical trait that earned her the name "Blondie". I say her name softly and tell her I love her so that her mommy's voice will be the last sound she hears as she leaves this world.

We bury our dear little Blondie in the backyard that evening, under a Japanese timber bamboo. I order a little stone engraved with her name over the internet from a pet memorial company. I tell Jack that it comforts me to know that Blondie is no longer suffering from cancer.

She was a gregarious and affectionate little soul, very agile and bright, and a devoted companion. She always liked to be close, curling up right next to me at every opportunity. She was so honest about her feelings, with her expressions written all over her gray-striped kitty face. I will miss that little Miss Tigerpants, with her ruddy nose, spotted belly, and black feet. Blondie lived fully until the final day of her life, purring and trying weakly to "make biscuits" on my stomach as she lay with me on our living room sofa, while the cancer raged throughout her gaunt furry frame. She even made her familiar little chortle sound, letting me know that in spite of her terrible pain and failing health, she loved being with me.

This is a time when the universe is teaching me to accept loss. My sister died just before the holidays last year, and my uncle was diagnosed with bladder cancer soon after that. One of my cousins in Kentucky was recently diagnosed with liver cancer, and is not expected to survive more than a year. He is 56 years old. Many of my long-term attachments to this world are slipping away. This leaves me in an uneasy space. I would prefer not to be in this space, but the universe did not ask my opinion.

A Buddhist friend suggested performing rituals from "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying". She said that making donations to charities each week after Blondie's death up to 49 days, making offerings, lighting a candle, saying prayers and visualizations can help her in the Bardo and can influence her next life.

Another Buddhist told me that the Dalai Lama wrote in his autobiography that his cat died with an injury. A while later a cat brought her kitten to him. It was crippled where his old cat had the injury. Maybe Blondie will be reincarnated, and we will be together again in some future life.

(Blondie died on July 1, 2008)