NIA

I am a cat-person but in 1993 a car had killed my cat Scarface and I was reluctant to get another cat because it had hurt so much.
Then one morning just after Christmas, when I was lying in bed half asleep, I had a clear vision: I saw a calico cat sitting in tall grass. It was such a forceful image that I could not ignore it and I thought, if I meet a cat like this I know we belong together.
A couple of days later there she was. My friend Ron had acquired a key to the cages at SPCA and when he went there to inquire about a lost dog he noticed a tiny kitten that stretched her paws out of the cage as if saying, please save me! There was no one around and he quickly opened the cage and transferred the kitten to his backpack. That night we played drums together and Ron said, I have a kitten in the car; maybe you’ll want it. She had obviously had hard times; somebody had cut off half her whiskers and one eye was infected and running with pus, but I fell in love right away; she was so tiny and trusting.


That night I didn’t get much sleep because she alternately wanted to come in under the bedcover or get out to breathe.
Next day I named her for the day in Kwanza that was her first day in my house: Nia, meaning purpose - we are here for a purpose, and we should think about it.
Most of my cats had been strays or had been left to me by friends that moved, so I hadn’t been with a kitten for a long time. It was a lot of fun for she was addicted to play; she didn’t ask for food but she begged to play. Already on her second day she learned to use the cat door and she had impeccable manners from the beginning though I spoiled her. I let her lie on the table while I was eating and if I had something that she liked I would give her a bite or two or let her lick the plate. But she was always patiently waiting to be offered.
One day I was drumming and I looked around and couldn’t see her anywhere until I looked down. There she was curled up, asleep right under the drum.
She was very independent but she loved to be with people. Often she would come when I was reading in bed and settle on my chest, purring loudly, with her face a couple of millimeters from my nose, and we would be together like that, face to face, for fifteen to twenty minutes and then she would leave.

The reason I write about Nia now is that today it is three years since she passed away. She had been sick for a while and when one day she lost her balance and fell over, I knew that she was dying. She was diagnosed with a tumor on the side of her nose and nothing could be done, but she didn’t seem to be in pain and she slept most of the time. As the end came close she wanted to be near me day and night. She slept next to me in bed and I had to arrange my cover as a tent over her so that she could breathe.
The last evening we were drumming and I closed my door to let her sleep in peace, but when I checked up on her she had crawled toward the door and since she wanted to be with us I put her on a pillow where we were drumming.
The next morning I awoke at seven. Her breathing was sometimes so faint that I thought she might die any moment. After ten I got up, had a bite of breakfast, and lay down again next to her. She got into a phase of rapid breathing that lasted over an hour, and then she had a spasm. It was terrible to watch; she flailed her legs in the air and gasped for breath. The breathing seemed to stop, and it looked like the moment of death had come, but the spasm started up again. It went back and forth like that four or five times before the breathing finally did stop and no spasm followed. She was gone.
Nia, farewell! May my love be like an angel at your side through the shadow lands.

A basket case.

Her favorite spot.

At ease with other felines.