Charlie's Last Day

When I woke up, the day was uncharacteristically cool and crisp, almost like a fall day. I spent the morning dozing on the deck, the sunlight filtering behind the clouds. It’s my most favorite place to be. It’s hard to see, it hurts to chew, and my back arches in a c when I walk, but that afternoon I didn’t feel the pain. That afternoon the kids came out. The little one crouched down on my level and stared at me in the eyes, touching his nose to mine. The bigger one stomped around in his loud clanky boots, always moving, always buzzing. The clamor of their voices, the giggles on the wheelbarrow, even the bickering: the sounds of a family. My family. They ate gelato on the deck and when some plopped to the ground I snuck a couple licks. My owners were here and there, fretting around me more than normal, giving me extra scratches, brushing my tired fur. I know. I knew.

For 15 years I’ve lived here. They didn’t ask for me, but they didn’t say no when I stayed. I’ve had a good life, chasing Green Lizard who lives by the door, sneaking into the house undetected and going on adventures, stretching out in the sun. I’ve been fed and washed and held and read next to. It was nice to simply be in the world.

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I recently read a book called The Collected Regrets of Clover, and in it the author writes, “shepherding the dying through the last days of their life is a privilege- especially when you’re the only ones they have to hold onto.” I’m not sure if this is really how Charlie experienced his last day with us, but I’d like to think it was something akin to this. It was a privilege to be part of it.

When we went out to visit his resting place in my parents’ backyard where he lays next to our other family pets Chip, Grady, and Millie, Declan asked, “Mommy can you tell God that Charlie is in heaven?”

“He already knows,” my mom replied.

Charlie Cat's Last Day was June 1, 2024