Today would have been our cat Samantha’s birthday. We don’t know when she was actually born, of course, but it was seven years today we took her home from the shelter. Two weeks ago – very unexpectedly – we had to say goodbye, and had to be the ones to make the final call. The visceral nature of those final hours have softened a bit, but I remain heartbroken. Every space in our apartment reminds me of her and I keep seeing her out of the corner of my eye, only she’s not there. It remains like a fever dream, as if someone else was simply watching her for awhile and at any moment they’ll bring her back to us. Only they never will. She gave us so much, and I want to celebrate her life here.

(Before that, though, just a note. To anyone who can possibly say, “It was just a cat,” I feel so sorry for you. To have experienced a deep bond with an animal is one of the great things about being human. You are missing out, and I hope one day you can understand.)

Back in 2018 I lost Ashford. He’d been my best friend and companion for 14 years. I was devastated and thought I’d never have another cat. A few months later we discussed rescuing another, as so many need homes. The thought of providing that home felt good, but still I thought I couldn’t feel that deeply again. Ashford endeared me to gray cats, and we knew we wanted an older one as they’re often passed over, and so, while scrolling the San Diego Humane Society website we found a picture of a slightly dopey gray lady with a wonky ear. Her name was Samantha and it said she was 12, described as “happy-go-lucky, carefree, engaging, adaptive, and cheerful.”

We found her atop a cat tree, cuddled up, in a room with several other cats. She was pretty reserved while others loved on us aggressively, but gave us head bonks. We immediately took to her but didn’t want to rush it so looked at every other cat there, which was a lot, and all deserving of homes. In the end there was little doubt. She’d been there for over a year, turned in when her previous owner died, and I think had become resigned that this was just her forever home. But maybe she was just waiting for the right people.

It didn’t take too long for her to prove me wrong about never deeply loving another cat. Once she settled in her true personality came out, earning her the nickname “Banana” from Cori – an apt description. It seemed impossible that she was actually 12 as she acted so much younger, and to this day we have no idea how old she actually was. While she showed signs of aging, she remained youthful to the end. Then again, feeling loved and safe keeps us all younger, and I’m so glad we could provide her with that.

Sam was nothing but a ball of love. She was not a lap cat, but loved cuddles, especially from Cori, and loved being near us. There’s been a lot of dark times these last 7 years and through it all she was always a light. Over and over again – with Covid, with lockdown, with me being so sick I could barely get out of bed, she always remained a light. Sometimes sitting with her in the quiet was the only thing in the world that felt okay. She gave me so much. Even these days as I’m reeling with grief, I felt my heart open with compassion towards others in a new way. It is a gaping hole she leaves behind, but I choose to fill it with the love and understanding she embodied. As long as I continue to pass that on, she’ll always be with me.

Thank you Sammy, I love you and miss you. You were the best girl ever.