Love is a giver, not a taker...

“And Laban had two daughters: the name of the

elder was Leah…[she] was tender eyed…”

– Genesis 29:17 – The Bible (KJV)

Barring an unforeseen catastrophic event, and depending on the age we begin the engagement, we will outlive the creatures of comfort that come into our homes and lives. So it was with Leah, our eldest and, for me, the most gracious and delicate.

Leah was the offspring of a female cat living in a small trailer, on the property of a church where I spent thirty profitable and meaningful years. Her mother, indiscriminate and free, produced this kitten amongst a number of others. Leah was the runt, and in 1999 at the age of eight weeks began her life’s journey with us. That journey ended this past Thursday at 10:30 in the morning.

As a youngster, she was spry and energetic with big ears and wide-open eyes. She liked to see as much of the world as she could, and so, often from nowhere, she would climb a pant leg then a shirt or sweater planting herself on your shoulder.

She came on board when Sable was the singular cat in our household. Sable was not a spring chicken when Leah arrived and early on became Sable's ‘pest friend.' It was amusing to watch this little kitten give the older cat more attention than she wanted. Over time, they developed an understanding, becoming real friends.

The day we lost Sable, we went to an animal shelter with the intent of bringing home a companion for Leah. We brought two: Sarah and Hannah. Leah, of course, was the alpha cat, and in spite of the fact that when the two new girls grew into their bodies, they were bigger than Leah, she dominated the household. They were all collegial and liked each other, but Leah ruled the roost. She was the queen, and of course, she knew it.

And so, our little family was settled - Molly, Ted, and the girls. We cohabited with each other in Missouri, Detroit, and San Diego before winding our way to Oro Valley in November of 2013. With Leah in the lead, they adjusted to each place well…maybe because the five of us had each other and they knew we were family.

We lost Sarah last year. Little doubt, she was Molly’s cat. Wherever Molly was in the house, there Sarah would be. Hannah was the most independent. While leaning more toward Molly, she danced to the sound of a different drum.

Over the years, Leah was mine and stole my heart completely.

No rooster in any barnyard could have been a better alarm clock…No early morning meditator ever had a better companion…No afternoon napper ever had a better tummy to tummy buddy…No writer nor speech preparer had a better on lap pal than she. In truth, her editing skills were wanting.

It was an easy friendship that grew richer over the years, and one I coveted.

When it became clear that her age (late 80s in cat time), arthritic spine, strength and vital organs were being overcome by time and gravity, it was nearly too much to bear. I mean, this was Leah, queen of the house and of my heart.

Molly and I were away for ten days in January. I had a quiet chat with my girl, suggesting it would be poor timing for something to happen to her while we were gone. She was waiting for us when we returned. She was, however, declining.

A week ago, last Friday, I had a presentation to give in Minneapolis. Before leaving this time, Leah and I had another quiet conversation. She was more fragile, but I reminded her of her duty to be at home when I got back.

While I was gone, she needed fluids and some antibiotics, but she waited. Wednesday afternoon, she climbed the steps to the bed and napped with me for a couple of hours. That evening, she sat on my lap, but it was clear it was all she could do to get and stay there.

We made the decision to say goodbye Thursday morning. 

Gail, our neighbor who has watched our cats as long as we have lived here, came over to say good-bye. Leah, sitting on my lap, tentatively nibbled a couple of snacks.

We wrapped our old girl in a warm blanket and headed to our Veterinarian, Mary Ann. It was a gentle and loving departure – a tiny sigh as she drifted away…Mary Ann, the instrument of Leah’s release wept along with Molly and me, as our friend of so many years became still. We each, in turn, held her tiny frame in our arms one last time.

There is no afterthought here…no lesson to be learned…no moral to the story. But, you know how it is…time…and sunny days…and rainy days…and the shared love of those who knew this gentle creature will soften the edges of our sorrow…

- ted