In those days with my brain marinating in estrogen, I believed fully in the power of love to heal everything.

Everything.

That was why my son found it odd I did not take to Shadow. Her desire to clutch and paw at whoever picked her up, her obvious need to be touched bothered me. Her indifference to adventure and being outdoors I found suspect.

I related best to her in the three summers when she went wild. For three consecutive summers after the arrival of Spike (the black fur ball)Shadow sidled out the door sometime in June when summer called and did not come inside again until the first nip of cold air.

Our next door neighbour's cat was the happy winner in Shadow's summer wildcat personality when in an attempt to get her inside, I offered this pearl-grey twin of Shadow a piece of steak.

He of course took the treat and ran home.

My lack of attention to Shadow did not short her out in anyway. She found plenty of strokes and brushing from others. When we played with the cats, we played with them both.

Later in life we dubbed her Miss Shadow. By this time Spike had grown into the large promise of his kittenhood (big paws always tell the tale to come).

Both cats were fixed as soon as possible, yet the blood in Spike's veins remembered their ancestral duty and every spring he spent a couple of weeks courting the slow and patient Miss Shadow, up to and including bouncing on her back.

She gave him a swat whenever he tried this. In later years, as she aged and his relatively powerful physical strength did not weaken, I took to protecting her, and chiding him in a reverse to their earliest days.

People who visited our home frequently commented on the powerful bond between these two. It was common to see her licking and grooming him, after or before they both curled up together and in the warmth of each other's fur fell into a happy, contented sleep.

Spike was an adventurer who loved the outdoors. As a tiny kitten he cried at the back door like a child begging to be allowed out. He was not yet a year old when he took to this daily behavior.

Shadow, other than her summer personality change, didn't seem to know the outdoors existed. She would go out, sit close to the house, twitch her tail a couple of times and return inside as soon as anyone opened a door.

Miss Shadow came into her own in old age, a reminder that some blossom late.

When we began the bi-weekly meditation sessions here in the house six years ago, Spike entertained us. He liked to meditate with us and if I forgot to let him in before meditation he would bang at the window, scratch and meow piteously in the
frigid arctic air which blew in his mind only.

Meditators gained much stability and calm in hearing such a racket. And racket it was. When he was let in, he twitched his tail imperiously as he sauntered through the group and over to his bowl, hopeful, ever hopeful, our meditations had resulted in the true goal of life: more and tastier morsels for cat.

Miss Shadow sat with us. She literally did not leave the room. After a few years of her participation, the group began to comment: she always sat on the lap of the new person.

She seemed to know ahead of time who would have a difficult meditation and need the presence of a warm furry cat in their lap.

She knew a great deal.

As the years continued, she and Spike grew ever closer and when last March we gave him the Phowa (Buddhist ceremony to oversee the death process)
and a needle from the vet, she mourned.

It was her way to not make a fuss, but days when I was present in the house but out of her sight, she would emit a long, pained yowl.

We took to picking her up and bringing her into whatever room we were in. When Harold and I were reading on the bed, he brought a straight-backed chair, her little basket, and her, and put it next to us so she knew where we all were.

Contented, she purred again.

Her ears gave out quickly. For the longest time she had been deaf. In the last few weeks I believe her eyesight was waning. And people noticed her wobbly walk.

My son, now living far away, had to be consulted and was against putting her down a moment sooner than needed.

On the other hand, he is of the opinion no unnecessary suffering should take place in her last days.

Although many of us noticed the change in her prior to Christmas, she lasted, as many people who are dying do, through the Christmas season. She offered my son and his wonderful wife, both cat lovers with two cats of their own, the opportunity to see her one more time.

In between Christmas and New Year, she stopped eating and drinking. We took her to the vet yesterday.

Harold had dug a hole deep enough in the backyard, right next to where we laid Spike's body. We recited the appropriate mantras as Harold gently replaced the soil, shovel by shovel.

In the last few weeks I grew to appreciate Miss Shadow in a way I never had. Her quiet reception to whatever love was shown her, her undemanding presence, her simple love of food and sleep arose in my perceptions with new appreciation. Why not live simply? Why not love what is present and ask for nothing more?

Most importantly, why not greet every event with a nudge of the head and a contented purr?