For the Love of Snuggles

Snuggles was a bonus. She earned her name and was faithful to it to the end.

Buttons, a stray cat that wandered to our rural address, blessed us with a litter of beautiful, long-haired, good-natured kittens. She was a wonderful mother whose babies were in demand and we allowed her to have three litters before the knife. The reputation of her off-spring caused us to have repeat customers.

After a few years of not having litters, my then eight year old daughter wanted a kitten – a yellow one. We began our search for this special being through families that had previously adopted one of Button’s babies. Sure enough, we found a litter that had a big, robust yellow male cat. In the weaning period, we visited – to ensure bonding. His dominant nature earned him the name Thumper from the beginning. The owner commented on his robust personality, and that – although he would not be denied in the dinner department – he seemed to favor, even to take care of – the runt kitty. Whether sleeping or playing, she said those two were always together.

That’s how we got our bonus kitty. Their personalities were opposite from the beginning. Thumper was a typical independent-I’ll-love-you-on-my-own-terms cat. But at the slightest outreach of a hand, Snuggles came running for head rubs and cuddles. Thumper never met a stranger. Snuggles was strictly a three-person cat, forming friendships only with my daughter, my husband and myself. Thumper ran to greet guests when the door bell rang; Snuggles hid under the bed until all scent of another human was past. We loved them both and they each brought a special joy to our lives. And they continued to be best buddies.

Days go by one at a time and lives change. Our daughter went off to college and we all missed her dearly. In an effort to fill the void, I reached out to the cats even more. Soon, they were sleeping on our bed and were following me around like a puppy-cat.

Thumper was the adventurous one and met an accidental death at age twelve. Snuggles visibly grieved for him for a long time. She turned to me for solace, becoming my constant companion. As I did my morning routine at the dressing table, Snuggles perched on the corner for a birds eye view. I would give her a nose-to-nose kiss and say, “I love you.” She would “Meow” back as if to say, “I love you, too.” This became our frequent greeting to each other.

Snuggles lived a long and healthy life, belying her runt beginnings. At age eighteen she slept day and night and moved slowly. She all but quit eating, and her breathing became laborious. The vet assured me she was not in pain so I chose to keep her with us, tending to her needs, until the end. I put her on a pillow and carried her from place to place to be wherever I was – at the dressing table, by my computer while working, on my lap for TV time, and in her normal place by my head at night.

I hand fed her. I cuddled her and talked to her, telling her how much she had added to our home. Although she had quit meowing, in her own special way, she communicated back. One night as I held her, I said, “Snuggles, do you know how much I love you?” She looked deep into my eyes and uttered a weak “Meow” as if to say, “Do you know how much I love you?”

That night, Snuggles died peacefully in her sleep. I took my silky dressing gown and wrapped her frail body in it as a burial shroud. We placed her amid the iris outside my office window. As they bloom in the spring sunshine, I am reminded of the cycles of life, the serendipity of bonuses, and the love of Snuggles.