by Susan Upton
Six years and four months ago, my cat Zada gave birth to four beautiful kittens. I only managed to give one away before my love for them grew so intense that I decided to keep them all. One of those tiny balls of fur grew to become my best friend on Earth. He was my Good Sam.
I cannot tell you how close the bond was between Sam and myself. He had a "presence" - an intuition. He seemed so human that all of my friends grew close to him as well. We shared the best of times and the worst of times. It was his belly that I laid my head upon when I would cry myself to sleep after my mother's death. I would look into his eyes whenever I was very sad, and I would see his concern for me; I would feel his comfort.
Sam was the perfect citizen in the household. He was our "watch cat". Whenever someone would knock on the door, or if he heard a bump in the night, he would not rest until he had inspected the whole house. He also brought us "kills". He would pick his fuzzy mice in his mouth and make strange calling noises as he approached us. He would then set the mice at our feet.
I could write a novel about all of the things Sam did that proved to me that he loved me so unconditionally, so very much; even with a novel, I would not be able to cover it all.
I lost him last night. He was overweight, but had never been sick. He was always a big boy and not very athletic, except when he was racing toward cat toys or following me up the stairs. About 48 hours ago, Sam just began to get lethargic. I threw a toy for him to fetch and he started toward it, and laid down. He just did not have the energy to go get it, and he looked at me as if to say, "Mom, I can't do it".
He sometimes became depressed when I was busier than usual and away from home. I thought this may have been the depression. But when I came home again, he was even worse. I immediately took him to the vet. The vet did a very hasty exam and rushed us out with a diagnosis of upper respiratory infection. I took him home and tried to give him the medicine, but he just became worse and threw it up.
I then took him to the emergency vet. His temperature had fallen to a very concerning level, and he just wanted to lay there on the exam table. I nearly lost it when he meowed in pain as the vet drew his blood. They had to do it twice and because he was SUCH a Good Sam, he never even thought to bite or scratch them.
I held him until the results came back. The results indicated nothing but dehydration. I left him overnight to begin iv fluids and returned home. Two hours later, at 2am, I got a call from the vet. Sam's temperature was still falling, even though he was on a heating pad. The vet had bad news. An x-ray showed that his heart was enlarged to twice its normal size. His left lung was filled with fluid, and his right was becoming so. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach and then shattered. I had promised Sam that I would never let him suffer. I could not subject him to painful treatments in hopes of having a few more months with him. My boyfriend and I drove to the animal hospital, knowing what we had to do.
At 2:00 a.m., I was led to a small steel cage that contained a very tired and sad little angel. His jet black fur contrasted with the light blue of the blanket and heating pad. He recognized us and tried to lift his head. When I touched him, he began to purr. I laid my head upon him like I had done so many times before. I told him that I remembered my promise. I told him that his soul and my soul would always travel together, that we would never be apart.
He spoke to me through his spirit. Animals can do this. It is how they communicate with each other in the wild. It is how they know when their human is coming home from work, or that their human is sad.
I felt it more strongly than any intuition. I felt drawn in to what he was urging me to understand. He was very sad to have to tell me goodbye. He wanted to be strong for me but did not have the strength to go on. He knew what was about to happen and laid his head in my hand. My boyfriend came in and we both spoke to him, hugged him. The vet approached us with the injection. What happened next is what tore my soul apart. Sam knew it was time. He suddenly struggled to sit up and he turned his head and looked up at us with his bright green eyes, and he said "reh-RRReh" - which meant "goodbye".
When I would leave for classes in the morning, when I would go out of town, Sam would always try to block the doorway and he would look up and say, "reh-RRReh". He hadn't the strength to sit up all night, yet he did it, he looked directly into our eyes and said goodbye. We broke down in tears. The vet asked if I would like to leave and I said, oh no, I cannot.
I turned Sam on his blanket so that his back was against me and I leaned over and covered him as I hugged him. I pleaded with him to fall asleep in my arms. The vet injected the solution into his iv and he cried out for a few seconds and struggled because the solution stung. I held him tight and felt him release in my arms and relax.
It was over. I looked into his eyes, which were big and bright and green. They were so lucid and pure and I felt his soul there.
I don't know how I managed to walk away. I could have kept standing there, stealing precious seconds away from the loss. But I knew that waht remained there was simply the glorious castle that once housed his beautiful soul.
We assume that there is some divine contract, some pact with God that when we love a being, that entity is safe from the arms of death.
We live our busy lives and all the while we do not realize that we are numbered. We each have our number and when it is chosen, we must go.
We can never change this. All we can do is cherish every moment we have with our loved ones while we have them. It is a shame that humans tend to be so far removed from the animal kingdom that they begin to believe that animals are inferior to them. Even I did not understand the strange events around my home during the previous week. Sam's mother, Zada, would not stop following me. She suddenly wanted to climb into my lap and get my attention. There was peace between she and one of my adopted cats after 4 years. I came home yesterday afternoon to see that they had all gathered around Sam on the couch, and one of them had placed Sam's favorite toy next to him.
Today, they are all calling out and wandering through the house.
When the vet shaved Sam's neck to draw blood for his tests, I kept the little swatch of fur. She had inadvertently shaved part of his little white cameo. I had rolled up the fur into a piece of face tissue and placed it in my pocket. I felt I had to do it, even though everyone was telling me to be calm and that Sam may be fine.
I was acting on my animal instincts. Sam had been telling me that he was fading away. I will always have that piece of his little white cameo and jet black fur.
Sam will be cremated and I don't know what I will do at that point. I will be at the beach for Christmas. I may release him back to where life began, in time for him to begin his new cycle with the approach of the milennium. But I will never forget him. I will always notice the empty space under my drafting table, the cat toy "kills" now packed away in a treasure chest, the sight of only four cats on the couch. I'll never hear "reh-RRReh" again, or see him roll over for a tummy rub or see him nested in the "boat" position again. But I will always feel his love for me and mine for him. And I realized today, as I lay there holding his brother, that if I looked directly in Whitey's eyes - I could see Sam there.
Sam - may your soul be kept by angels and never be parted from my own.
The Good Sam (19.5 lbs.)
Angel-sent August 8, 1993
Angel-returned December 11, 1999