College came and Lily followed her there. She stayed in every college house with her friends.
As we went to college, Lily followed her to every place she lived throughout the years. The ongoing fascination of Lily, Aka Bean, by all who visited the house confused me. The ongoing joke was that I hated the cat. I began to believe it. Seeing everyone fall to their knees over this little white cat who was always slow in movement and silent in sound baffled me. Why do they care so much about this cat? It's not like it's a dog.

When I stayed over Lily would torture me at night when my fiancée would be asleep. Paying no mind to her, she would walk across the bed, over my face, and her notorious "night meow" would emerge; a low, constant, mundane meow that only I ever noticed because it was always in the late hours of me being awake. It wasn't until my fiancée and I got an apartment together that I'd be with the cat 24/7. Every night, the night meow would emerge and my irritability would rise. Every morning I explained what I experienced and she laughed at my torture and Lily gets away clean.

We spent more time together than I ever hoped for. I learned more and more about her, whether I liked it or not. When my fiancée was at work or school, which was most days of the week, it was Bean and I during the day. With all this time together I had to find some common ground. I started to really learn her habits, traits, and other nuanced things that one doesn't simply see based on occasional meetings.

With time I noticed the sacred relationship she had with her cat tower. The different tiers she would perch upon at different hours of the day. She seemed to hide in the little hut when she was tired or, what I can only explain as, meditating. This involved her sitting up straight in a Sphynx position with her eyes completely closed, focused and completely still. Her concentration was so strong at times, no noise or movement would break her focus.

The upper tier was more of her lookout. The high-raised basket allowed a good view all around her, and it also gave her the ability to look outside. Strangers, birds, cars, these were the typical characters of the nonstop show she watched through the window.

From inside from the basket, she carried her watch duties by ensuring that the land she roamed, the one-bedroom apartment, was safe and fit for her. She ensured the legs of every piece of furniture were licked thoroughly, the couch kept a sufficient amount of her hair was shed over it, the upkeep of decor of infamous hairballs, and the small trail of litter that led to the source of the scented coarse powder. The domain was hers, and she owned it royally.

When we all lived together, I had to take some responsibility for the feline. I promised that this was not my cat and that I certainly wouldn't be opening cans of the foul wet cat food or worse, scooping litter. As you can imagine, my stubborn self didn't last long in that battle.

I came to realize my arrogance was only my protest to change, and accepting that Lily was now part of my life. These small tasks of caring for the cat began to fracture the wall between us. I saw a cat just trying to eat and do her business respectfully, and she saw a person who was now taking care of her other than her beloved owner.

The consequences of my actions led her to believe that I wanted to cuddle with her--a lot. My wall of arrogance had more integrity than anticipated. When she tried to get near, I'd constantly pick her up and put her on the other side of the couch, or on the floor, to show my disinterest. But my integrity soon ran out. I eventually gave up on moving her. It was yet again another battle I had lost. 2-0, Bean.

I would let her lay next to me, across my lap, and yes, even on my chest. I would pet her nicely, scratch her ear, and rub her nose, which wasn't always well received. My softness grew as my disdain faded. The feline foe had become a confidant.

Lily possessed quite outstanding traits that were most prevalent when she spent time with my fiancée. Their relationship spanned 17 years, and all 7 years of our relationship included Lily. I got to see firsthand the authority she held over her heart. It was profound to watch the cat who just spit up a hairball, littered every surface with hair, and drank any drink left open on a table for more than 30 seconds be completely immune to causing any frustration to her. She would put a smile on her face after a long, stressful day without fail. It was her affection for this cat that always kept her moving.

Extensive health issues and a rigorous doctoral program began to take a toll on my fiancée's mental health: constant doctor visits, changes of medications, new side effects, continuous side effects, and a lack of hope in finding some tolerable balance. To do all of that while having nonstop work pile up that seemed to get bigger no matter how many sleepless nights of grinding, endless hours on a dissertation that felt like the finish line was constantly moving, and a mismanaged doctoral program which at times felt almost Orwellian from the outside, I've watched the relentless stress consume her.

I felt small in my abilities in comparison to the mighty one they called Bean. I struggled to compete with Lily. Everything felt just a bit easier once she got home and had Bean to decompress with. The writing was on the wall. My dwindling ability to emotionally support her felt inadequate, and I'd be screwed if I lost this gig.

When she would go to work, I would take pictures of Lily and send them to her. It always gave her a moment of peace in her day. This soon evolved into "Lily" sending pictures of herself to check in during the day. I eventually found an interest in making Lily dance when she was on my lap. With my hands under her shoulders, Lily shined as the entertainment star of our little place. I would record her dances to various songs and send them to bring a smile and hopefully make her laugh out loud while in class or at work.
I treated her well in her rise to fame. As her acting manager, we produced a good amount of content. At times she wasn't feeling it or it became too much, we mandated breaks or delays in production. A surplus of treats, pets, and scratches were always rewarded for her hard work.

We became a team, and our biggest fan was able to find some joy during such a stressful time. But Bean was always the star in her eyes. It didn't take my spontaneous creativity, as much as I'd like to think so. It was who Bean was, her loving cat of 17 years.

With a 17-year relationship, you can suspect that this cat was more than a pet. She was family. Having an animal from the ages of 7 to 24 is quite astonishing. Almost every day after school, she was there. After every practice, she was there. Birthdays, graduations, and milestones in life, Lily was always there.

This cat has seen it all and stood the test of time as truly a great companion. It was impossible to imagine life without Lily. I truly started to believe that as well.

When she was diagnosed with kidney disease, I thought there wasn't much we could do to slow it down. Months later, when she went to the vet for testing, the results showed a reversal of the disease. The mortality of this cat had almost become a myth. As Lily climbed in age, we joked she would live to see 100. She had truly become a legend to us all.

For so long, she felt untouched by time, like she truly was immortal. But time, eventually, had its last dance with her.

Today we say goodbye to a member of our family. Lily has been in my life long enough for me to realize that, yes, I still do not like cats but Lily wasn't a cat. She was a member of the family. My family.

You wouldn't believe the things you can learn from a cat that couldn't say more than a meow. I do know for certain that Lily was special. The love she gave in such simple ways was a joy to watch. The same love I once mistook as her trying to drive me crazy.

As she rekindles with some old fur friends in her new world, we wish her well. I hope to support the lifelong friend she leaves behind. However, I don't know how successful I'll be, because the newer friend she made is hurting quite more than expected.

Bean, you truly will be missed.