Member-only story
I Crossed an Ocean to Be With My Dying Cat
It sounds rash and extreme, but I’ll never regret going to transatlantic lengths to be with my pet in her dying days.
In June, my mom called with news: “We haven’t wanted to worry you, so we didn’t say anything at first… but your cat’s been limping since the other day. We think she’s fine. She probably just snagged one of her claws while jumping and twisted her knee. I’ll take her to the vet, though, just to make sure she’s not seriously hurt.”
Strangely enough, over precisely those days — before I knew the cat was limping — she was on my mind. A lot. It was almost a feeling like she wanted me near. Alas, I live in Germany. My family lives in the States. It wasn’t possible just to drop by and visit. If she’s hurt, maybe that’s why I was feeling her lately, I reasoned. It wouldn’t be the first time something suggested from afar that we had a sixth-sensory bond.
It also wouldn’t be the first time she had a limp; she was arthritic and lifelong-clumsy. Probably another minor injury the vet’ll assure us will heal on its own.
I wasn’t too concerned. Yet.
It’s cliche when people say their pets rescued them, but it’s often true. So it was with my cat. While I rescued her from a kill-shelter just after…
