Eulogy for Samantha

I lost a very dear friend this week.
I’d seen her getting noticeably weak.
In her prime,
We slept together many times
Despite our uneasy alliance.

She was very skittish,
Never sure of what made me tick.
But through thin and thick,
My arms and heart
Were always open to her.
That didn’t go unnoticed.

We both knew she sought
The soothing strokes I offered
When she’d come visit me,
Approaching so cautiously,
Stepping on the foot of my bed
One aloof foot at a time,
Knowing this was her surrendering,
But wanting it nonetheless,
For a few passing moments
of passive, passionate acceptance.

She was complex that way.
Always measuring
The give and take, afraid
To push her stakes
To the middle of the table
And lay herself, her achy fragile body,
Selflessly beside me
And let me heal her.

I so wanted to heal her.
To have her feel powerful,
Lithe, agile, to purr in her ear
Which I did when she let me,
And whisper, what to her
Were sweet nothings,
But intoned appropriately.

On rarest days
Of recklessness,
She’d lift her thin neck
For my fingers to brush
Lightly beneath her chin,
And she’d flush
Momentarily in ecstasy,
While her chest heaved;
Her breathing, for but few
Fleeting minutes distinctly audible.

Then by some reasoning
I could never fathom,
At the zenith of our connection
She would need to withdraw:
Need leap her feet toward the floor
And rush off for the door.
It’s as if her offering, her softening,
Caught her uncomfortably by surprise.

I’ve thought, perhaps, a trauma taught
By someone from a fraught past lasted.
Hovering lessons learned to remain taut,
Cautious, troubled,
And to never, not ever, realize
Her potential for loving.

Often she would turn her head
Upon her hurried, unexpected exit
And reluctantly cry. Cry!!!
Mumbling something inscrutable
As she left.  Some excuse
In a language I couldn’t understand.
Language that intimated she couldn’t
let her guard down now,
But would be back again
For another round,
When she was ready.

She was never really ready.
Months have past
Since I’ve held her last,
Nuzzled my face
into her emaciated stomach.

That’s her litter box,
Plastic liner and Kitty litter still intact,
In the back seat of my car.
I guess I can toss
It into the dumpster now
The same way the crass Vet most likely
Discarded her time-ravaged body.
She won’t be traveling
Up to Connecticut
With me anymore,
To a magic place, where for the first time,
Her urban paws touched grass
Or swatted at Moths on the other side
Of an August screen door.

Next time
I won’t need to leave
The back porch light on
For her entertainment.

Maybe I should remain grateful
I won’t have to work
So hard to coax a purr out of her.
But, I cherished those rare moments
When she let herself give in.
And for a limited pet or two,
She didn’t hurt
And she felt truly loved.