Our cat died today. Everyone’s cat dies, but this time it was ours. She was fourteen, and every day of those 14 years was spent her way and on her terms. There is an old (and accurate) quote that says: “All cats are extraordinary.” and everyone who has ever known and loved a cat knows this is true. Cats are not ‘open books,’ they choose who they truly show themselves to and if you’re lucky enough to be that person, you know it and feel it in a way that is impossible to explain to non-cat people. Our Bootz, aka “Action Cat,” was extraordinary from the way she confidently entered our lives to the patience, dignity and trust she exhibited for us today in her final hours and minutes. I’m supposed to be the ‘writer’ here and I am struggling to put my thoughts and words in order. I’ve loved every pet I’ve ever had. I’ve even deeply loved pets that weren’t my own (I am one of those people) but I didn’t just love Bootz, I deeply admired her.
Bootz chose us, not in the usual “Universal Cat Distribution System” way, that often manifests as a starving/abandoned kitten running up to you in a gas station parking lot… Bootz appeared, calm, cool and collected, in our fenced-in back yard one day when she was nearly 3 years old. Clearly at ease outdoors, she instantly decided ours was her new home, and she basically moved in. Weeks later we learned she actually belonged to the lady who had just moved in a few houses away. Not wanting to kidnap her pet, we talked it out with our new neighbor and learned that she was newly divorced, dealing with that and two kids and basically did not have the bandwidth to handle Bootz, nor her brother “Sockz.” Bootz, for her part, apparently had decided she wanted to live in a different, calmer and quieter environment, and wanted to leave all the noise and chaos of her old home, including her brother, behind and so she chose us.
When she moved in, she made it clear that she came with some non-negotiable conditions, the first being that she was an “indoor/outdoor” cat and expected free reign to come and go as she pleased. I know this sounds a bit nuts and even irresponsible these days, even in the neighborhood-y feeling urban environment of Los Angeles, but I’ll repeat: she came to us as an outdoor cat already. Our feeble attempts to “keep her inside” were not tolerated. We were lucky to live in an area that is not coyote-prone, and with relatively light traffic, even so, every time I opened the door and let her out, a part of me feared that I might never see her again. I should have known better. If not for the rampant anti-feline bias in Hollywood, I’m convinced she could have been cast as the new James Bond. She was that beautiful, smart, suave and cunning.
She earned her nickname “Action Cat” every day. It was common to spot her on roofs, fences and even treetops, like this one in our back yard; a favorite spot where she sat swaying in the breeze and taking in her kingdom.
We’re not even sure where exactly she roamed when she was “out there” but it was clear that she had her own network of (human) friends. She would often come home smelling of someone’s perfume, or cigarettes and on one occasion, sprinkled with glitter (that was a tough one to comb out of her long, soft fur.)
Even the time she got “skunked” she was more relaxed about it than we were. She handled her multiple deodorizing baths with her usual calm and aplomb.
She feared nothing and no one; not the friend’s unstable rescue hound who charged at her – lucky for the dog there was a glass door between them. Not the 25+ Thanksgiving guests who crowded “her” living room every year – unlike most cats who might spend the day hiding under a bed, she strolled through the huge, lumbering people expecting them all to make way for her… and they did.
She was self-directed and self-actualized but she wasn’t selfish. When I was bed-bound and recovering from some serious surgery, she rarely left my side, and the only time we ever saw her get aggressive with a person, was when the visiting nurse was removing my stitches and I said “ouch!” She was my 10 pound protector.
She had no interest in fame or image-building and would instinctively ruin the shot if she noticed a camera. It didn’t stop us from trying, but she really just wasn’t interested… which sucked because she was ridiculously photogenic. I spent last night looking through the pictures I have of her. I currently have 5254 pictures and videos in my iphoto account. 1421 of them are of Bootz. You’re seeing less than 1% of them in this post.
I could go on for another 5000 words and still not do her justice today. And in a world literally and figuratively on fire, I know it is important to keep these “small” personal tragedies in the proper perspective. There is ‘privilege’ involved in being able to own a pet and to experience the joys and fun of having one. But there is a deep reason why we humans have been loving, and in some societies worshiping these creatures for thousands of years…. they tell us things about ourselves.
I started this out by saying I admired Bootz. I did. I admired her beauty, intelligence and unassuming elegance, but I especially admired her courage. There are often times, especially recently, when I’ve felt that, if I didn’t have to leave the house, I never would. Bootz bravely faced every day and couldn’t wait to step out into the big, crazy world with a level of self-confidence and eagerness that was astounding for a tiny 10 pound creature. As I told her every day: “You’re the prettiest, and the smartest, and the strongest and the bravest kitty in the history of kitties.”
…because she was.
We were so goddamn lucky that she chose us to spend her life with. This grief is a small price to pay for all she gave us and I will try to experience it with the same kind of courage and grace she faced everything with, good or bad.
Thank you Bootz.
