Poppy

I often argue with myself about exactly what a miracle is.  I find that most definitions of the word are deficient.  Is it something that breaks the laws of nature?  No, we find phenomena that break those laws all the time- we just rewrite the laws to accommodate them.  Is it when something amazing happens, something meaningful and improbable?  Naysayers would scoff that those aren't true miracles, just coincidences.

I want to set the argument aside and proceed with a squishy, indeterminate definition of miracle.  I suppose I'll know one when I see one.  In this post I would like to tell you about one of the little miracles I've had the privilege to know.

Her name was Poppy.

I first met Poppy one evening eight years ago.  It was the first time I went to visit Breanna's house, the woman who would become my wife.  Back then we were awkward teenagers who had no inkling of the significance of our meeting or of the long journey ahead.  Poppy was Bree's little fluffy cat, friendly and cuddly.  Poppy took a liking to me, and I to her, and soon I was petting her and squeezing her and she climbed on my back.  I didn't consider myself much of a cat person until I met Poppy and she lazily strode into my heart. 

Poppy back in 2018

Over the years as my relationship with Bree grew closer and deeper, Poppy became as much a staple of life for me as Bree did.  Wherever Bree was, Poppy was our little chaperone in the background.  She was a little poofy cloud, snuggling on the couch, laying in the sun, and doing anything for treats.  She was an expert at nonverbal communication, and she wouldn't allow us to ignore or misunderstand her little requests.  Looking back, it's hard to believe she never spoke a lick of English, because she always made her thoughts known one way or another.

I grew especially close to Poppy after Bree and I finally married and moved into my grandma's basement together.  Grandma was generous enough to allow us to keep Poppy with us, and thus our little family was born.  Poppy was simultaneously like a doting mother and happy-go-lucky child.  Bree and I worked inverse schedules, and Poppy kept me company on the lonely evenings that Bree worked her late shifts at the hospital.

 

She was a small thing on the outside, but huge on the inside.  She was the best cat in the world.  She was special.  I know that all cat owners feel that way, but to me, it's true.  In the same way that the love Breanna and I share is a miracle despite there being billions of similar relationships all over the world, I know that Poppy was a miracle cat.  Sometimes the most everyday, mundane things in life are the most miraculous.  We just have a hard time seeing it.

As summer drew to a close this year, Poppy began to show signs that she was nearing the end.  She was 17 years old, which is very old for a cat.  She hardly showed any pain and she bore her age with grace, but she walked a little bit slower, lost her ravenous appetite, spent more and more time sleeping, and began losing weight.  She was as cuddly and sweet as ever, and she was still herself, but Bree and I knew that she didn't have much time left, and we were at the precipice of a very hard decision.  To be certain, we took her to the vet and she confirmed that Poppy didn't have much longer.

Poppy in her golden years

It was an impossible choice.  How could we make that decision for her?  And yet we had to.  Bree was brave, and she chose to give Poppy a peaceful passing, without pain.  She didn't want Poppy to die in some cold pet hospital, so we planned for the vet to come to us.  In the days leading up to it, we spent lots of time with Poppy, setting aside other things to give her lots of time and attention.  It still felt like it wasn't enough.

On the final day, Poppy laid outside in the sun on our little picnic blanket.  I opened the door for the vet and led her to where Poppy and Bree were laying, and my heart sank.  In that short walk to the blanket, time slowed to a crawl and I felt each heavy footstep.  The vet was kind and professional and she did everything right, but there can only be so much good in a 'good death.' 

 

Because of Bree's tough decision, Poppy passed away comfortable in the company of those who loved her, instead of cold, sick, and alone as she may have otherwise.  She couldn't have understood what had happened, but I pray that if she did, she would have forgiven us.  I hope she has moved on to new journeys and adventures, wherever they may be.

 

As I've grown older, the truth of impermanence has grown more and more real.  Everything comes into being and passes away like the constant turn of a wheel, and the longer I live, the faster the wheel spins.  The recognition of this truth has prompted me to spend more time appreciating life and those who I love, rather than anticipating whatever is coming next.  When I look back on the time I had with Poppy, my greatest regret was that I did not give her enough love or attention, and did not appreciate her for the miracle she was while I had the chance.

Thank you Poppy.  For being our best friend and for teaching us by example how to age with grace, how to love unconditionally, and how to appreciate the little things.  We'll never forget you.  Thank you for teaching me what a miracle is.