Just Above the Clouds

Jamie sits in the exam room alone, the sterile air raising goosebumps along her arms as her fidgeting fingers crumple the brochures in her hands. Her eyes have been stuck on the exam room door for quite some time now, and only when the door finally swings open, does Jamie snap out of her stressful haze. The doctor steps into the room with a small bundle of black fur in her arms.

“Jackie did such a good job in there,” the doctor says in a sweet voice. “And for an 18-year-old cat, she’s still pretty spunky.”

White paws, white whiskers, and a little white chin emerge from the black fur as the doctor sets the small cat onto the metal exam table. The cat sits on her haunches facing Jamie with her white paws looking like little, squished marshmallows underneath her. Jamie reaches towards her, rubbing the bridge of her nose and scratching behind her ear. Jackie purrs instantly and presses her head against Jamie’s hand.

“She’s got such a beautiful coat,” the doctor says, running her hand along Jackie’s glossy fur. The old cat sits poised and proud, her body rumbling like a hive of bumblebees, pleased to accept the extra praise and pets.

“Yeah, everyone always thinks she’s a kitten,” Jamie says, enjoying the opportunity to brag about her cat.

She gets the comment often. With Jackie’s small frame and healthy coat, she easily passes for a 1-year-old. But Jamie remembers when her coat was thicker, when her stride was smoother, and when the sprinkle of white fur around her nose wasn’t there at all. But even years after Jackie quietly passed her prime, her big eyes, tiny paws, demanding meow, and insatiable appetite for food and attention still have a way of charming friends and visitors.

“She doesn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort, so the goal now is to make sure she’s eating and not losing weight,” the doctor explains.

Jamie feels a gentle wash of relief. If there’s one thing you can count on Jackie to do, it’s to eat.

“In the meantime, take a look at those brochures and give us a call if anything changes or if you have any questions. Oh, and we’ll give you some extra fatty wet food on your way out to help her eat.”

Jackie purrs looking pleased.

On the way home, Jamie drives slowly and smoothly, a stark difference from her usual rushed and frantic driving. An occasional stressed cry comes from the green cat-carrier strapped into the front passenger seat. Jamie pokes her fingers through the holes on the side of the carrier as she coos softly to the cat. She feels whiskers and fur brush up against her fingertips. Jamie hates making Jackie ride in the car and feels a pang of guilt with every meow.

“It’s ok, we’re almost there,” Jamie whispers, wishing more than ever that Jackie could understand what she was saying.

When they get home, Jamie takes Jackie out of the carrier and holds her against her chest. Jackie nuzzles her little head against Jamie’s, filling her ear with a rumble of purring, both happy to be home.

Jamie lies down on her bed and looks out the window to see the pear tree in her yard covered with blooming white flowers. One day a few years ago, Jamie couldn’t find Jackie anywhere in the house. She frantically searched all over the yard and around the neighborhood for hours, until she heard a sad, drawn-out meow coming from the pear tree. Jamie looked up into the blooming tree but couldn’t see Jackie past the cotton-like flowers. It wasn’t until Jamie climbed into the tree and stood above some of the branches and their little clouds that she was able to see the little cat perched in the tree.

Now Jackie jumps onto the bed, barely making the leap. Her paws poke into Jamie’s stomach and ribs as she walks across her to lie on her chest. The two are nearly nose to nose. Jamie remembers lying like this when Jackie was a kitten, so young that her eyes had just opened a few days before. A 9-year-old Jamie had a small bottle of warm kitten formula ready, but all the little kitten wanted to do was nuzzle herself into Jamie’s neck and purr as loudly as a full-grown cat. Jamie watches the old cat tuck her paws underneath her white chest and close her eyes. Usually Jamie would be annoyed getting stuck under her napping cat, but today she doesn’t mind.

After dinner, Jamie puts the carrier away in the closet and picks up the crumpled brochures from the vet. What is Feline Oral Squamous Cell Carcinoma? and Pet Loss and Grief. She puts them in the closet as well.

“We just have to keep you eating,” she says to Jackie.

This isn’t hard to do. Jackie was never one to leave food in her dish, especially when wet food was involved. But the next week, Jamie notices Jackie’s fur is no longer glossy and smooth but streaked with drool left behind from attempted and unsuccessful cleanings.

Jamie fills the bathroom sink with warm water and the sweet smell of baby shampoo fills the air. She soaks a washcloth with the soapy water and gently rubs it into Jackie’s fur. The bathroom door is shut to prevent any frantic escapes, but Jackie sits calmly beside the sink, her eyes closing softly, her little body rumbling, appreciating the warmth of the water and the special attention. Jamie thinks about the baths she used to give Jackie in the kitchen sink of her childhood home, back when Jackie could fit in one hand and had to have formula washed out of her fur each morning. When she’s all clean, Jamie wraps her in a warm towel and sits by the heater with her.

Everyday Jackie welcomes Jamie home with a strong meow and her endless appreciation of chin scratches. But everyday there’s a little more food left in her bowl at night and a little less body on Jackie’s frame.

Jamie is holding a tiny Jackie over her shoulder when the doctor comes to the house. She presses her face into her warm fur, feeling her soft rumble of purring against her cheek. She sets Jackie on the bed and pets her as the doctor goes over the next steps. Jackie lies there calmly, enjoying the warm stream of sun coming in through the window. Jamie nervously gets lost in conversation about her precious cat.

“It’s been hard watching her struggle to eat. She’s always had a giant appetite,” Jamie said, smiling sweetly down at Jackie. “When I lived with my family, we had five cats altogether, and Jackie would try to eat five cats worth of food. And when I had roommates, she would trick us into feeding her twice all the time. She’s always so sweet and poised, but she meows so dramatically at you, she just bullies you into feeding her.”

Jamie and the doctor laugh, each taking turns petting Jackie, who is curled up on the bed, purring softly.

When Jamie can’t think of any more stories, when she’s told the doctor about all of Jackie’s manners and moods, she looks down at the shrunken cat, wondering how something so small could mean so much.

Jamie kneels down beside the bed, circles her arms around the warm bundle of fur, and kisses Jackie on the top of her head, feeling the old cat rise a little to press against Jamie’s face. Jamie lightly rests her cheek on Jackie, trying to imprint her mind with the earthy smell of her fur, the calming roll of her purr, the gentle rise and fall of her belly to hold on to forever.

“I think we’re ready,” says Jamie quietly.

The first injection is a sedative and relaxes Jackie's little body into a purring puddle.

“The next one is going to make her fall asleep, so she won’t be awake when it happens,” the doctor explains gently.

Jamie tries to swallow the lump in her throat but gives up. She presses her wet face into Jackie’s fur one last time.

“I love you, Jackie.”

The old cat quietly falls asleep. Shortly after that, with Jamie’s hand gently stroking her delicate face, the soft rumble of purrs fade away.

It still hurts when Jamie walks into the house and expects to hear a welcoming meow but doesn’t. Or when she looks at a spot of sun on carpet and sees it empty. But every day is a little easier, and when the pear tree blooms, she remembers that her friend is there, just above the clouds, just a little too high to see.