Danielle Page & Nightmare
The cat distribution system has blessed me twice in my lifetime. In middle school, I found my first cat, Snagglepuss, wandering the streets of my hometown on Long Island. When I moved back home again after college, I found Nightmare and her litter of abandoned kittens.
Nightmare and I were both going through hard times when we first met. She had clearly been someone's pet before getting knocked up and kicked out. I'd just moved back into my parent's basement after graduating college on the heels of a recession with no job prospects in sight.
No one wanted either of us, but we had each other.
I liked Nightmare right away. She was beautiful and tough to win over. My type of girl. A tiny black cat with big bright eyes and a spicy personality. One minute, she'd be rolling over and rubbing up against you; the next, she'd turn around and hiss. But the more I learned her body language, the better I anticipated what she liked and didn't like. My dad started calling her Nightmare because of her attitude, and the name stuck. It's made vet visits very entertaining.
It's crazy to think back to the summer we met 14 years ago. She's come such a long way in terms of trusting humans again, specifically me. She was never a cuddly cat and always liked her space. It took years for her to voluntarily sit on or even next to me, but now it's part of our daily routine. She loves to come up to my lap when I'm sitting on the couch, gently place her two front paws on my leg, and look up at me. When I'm lying down, she likes to sit on my chest and snuggle up as close as she possibly can to my face.
Nightmare joins most of my work calls. As soon as she hears the meeting start, she'll trot over, hop up onto my desk, and make herself comfortable. Sometimes, she'll put a paw on one of my hands while I'm typing, like, "You're working too hard. Take a break!"
This cat has become such a part of my identity. Co-workers, friends, and family members always ask me how she's doing as if she's a real person. I often get mail addressed to both of us (especially wedding invitations, though she always declines). For years, we'd send out a funny Christmas card of the both of us in holiday outfits, which she'd tolerate wearing just long enough for me to snap a photo.
Three years ago, she was diagnosed with kidney disease. Last December, she was diagnosed with cancer, along with high blood pressure and a slow thyroid. We've been managing her symptoms successfully with medication since then, and overall, she's been in good spirits.
But I'm struggling with the anticipatory grief of what life will be like without her. How quiet this apartment will be. The idea of waking up to an alarm clock instead of her little paw on my face telling me it's time to get up and feed her. Never looking into her big bright eyes while she's sitting on my chest purring in the loaf position. Seeing her usual spots empty without her.
I've been working on being more present with her. I'm trying my best to make the most of our time together while she's still here. I used to be strict about not giving her human food, but lately, I've been making it a point to share things like chicken and tuna with her, which she'll eagerly swat out of my hand to eat.
She loves bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches so much that I have to put her into another room whenever I eat one. Her brief stint on the streets made her into a stealthy food scavenger. I once turned my back on half a BEC, and within seconds, she had the whole thing in her mouth. I wrestled it away from her, but I plan on letting her have one before she passes — a true New York send-off for my New York street cat.
This cat has brought so much joy into my life over the past 14 years just by being my roommate. When we sit together at night and I start to feel sad about her time here ending, sometimes I ask her, "Has it been as good for you as it was for me?" She gives me a slow blink or tucks her paws underneath her tiny body and purrs contentedly while I commit the moment to memory.
Danielle Page is a writer, editor, and content strategist. She lives in Astoria with her black cat, Nightmare.