Holiday Fig

Fig has made it through Christmas and will see us into the new year - reason enough to celebrate when he was given only a few weeks to live several months ago. He continues to slow, is a bit thinner, and has nodules under his skin, but has kept his healthy appetite for food, human company, and life in general.

He has taken to sleeping under our Christmas tree, fitting for the gift that is his presence in my life.

As we enter 2010, I look forward to continued life lessons from my intrepid feline friend. From Fig and me, have a very happy, healthy, peaceful, and prosperous new year.

Leaving a legacy

In the few months that I've lived with the knowledge that Fig has cancer and will probably not live to see another full year, I've thought about his legacy - the impact he has had on my life and the lives of others. He is a genuinely sweet spirit - never malicious nor one to hold a grudge, and yet he is most definitely his own cat, and relates to the world on his own terms. Obsequious he is not. He wants to love and be loved, to give his trust, to take in the world with all his senses. There is time in his day for running and leaping, and always time for a long nap. He lets me know when he needs his space, and when he wants to interact. No guile, just Fig. There is much to admire in his balanced way of being in the world, many good qualities worth emulating.

In the end, I will always think of Fig as the best kind of teacher - one who helps us learn by modeling, by being his own best self. In that rarefied light, how we can do other than see our own best selves and strive to hold on to that image?

In the past year, I've watched Fig make a true friend out of someone who never had a pet in his life, and who was generally uncomfortable around animals. Along the way this friend has discovered new depths of gentleness, tenderness, and patience, and has experienced his ability to love and communicate with an animal. What a wonderful legacy!

Even more wonderful is the ripple effect of positive experiences. That same friend has reached out to someone from his childhood, and as a result, a child on the other side of the world will be able to have an education. I think about the trajectory that child's life will have now, the choices that will be open to him, and how he will be able to care for his parents in their old age. One action, one contact, can have a tremendous impact on not just one person, but the people in that person's life also. It is at once humbling, sobering, and exhilarating.

Of course, I cannot attribute my friend's action to his relationship with Fig. But there is no need to completely discount it, either. Just like a flower blooming through the tiniest crack in a concrete wall, good will find the light of day, and we never know what path it may take.

As I reflect further, I realize that I have had the benefit of knowing Fig for over a decade, and I must ask myself how open to learning have I been during those years? So many people and animals have touched my life for the better that I feel a deep need to pass along what I have gained. What will be my legacy?

A not so silent meow

Fig usually communicates in a series of near silent "hahs" and a lot of body language - ear movements, tail swishing, and other meaning-laden gestures. Occasionally, when he is really desperate to be fed, he will emit a soft meow. Having lived with other cats who could have singlehandedly put the word "caterwaul" in the dictionary, I have always appreciated Fig's more considerate approach to communication. Still, once in a while, it's nice to be reminded that he does have a voice.

There is a very vocal orange tabby in our neighborhood that loudly demands attention whenever he sees me. Mango, as I've chosen to call him, is quite affectionate and will jump up on the hood of my car to more readily reach my hand, all the while meowing at full volume. One evening I introduced Fig to Mango. Fig immediately began calling out in a full-throated meow. Mango responded in kind, and the two of them had quite a conversation. Were they establishing/defending boundaries? Introducing themselves? Complaining about the state of the weather? I'll never know, but it was an impressive display.

It was interesting that Fig found his voice in the presence of another cat. He has a history of being a pretty solitary beast by preference when it comes to his own kind, but he certainly had a lot to say to his new neighbor. It made me think about people, and the rhythm of our own conversations - how some people tend to listen quietly, others prefer to dominate the conversation (sometimes, whether or not they have something to say), and some speak up only in certain situations. Sharing our thoughts, our words, can be a way of making ourselves known and of knowing, of reaching out and connecting with each other. Yet we can also draw our lines in the sand, push people away, or hit them over the head with a barrage of words. The former purpose requires engagement by both parties; the latter may be unilateral. It takes at least two people to build, but only one to aggress or destroy - a disturbing thought.

Winter approaches

The air is decidedly colder - there was ice on the plants, railing, and roof this morning. Winter is well on its way, and we pull on our sweaters, gloves, and caps as we venture outside.

Apart from his perennial curiosity about the front yard, Fig has not shown much interest in going outside for quite a while, preferring to spend his days curled up on the sofa or on his cushion under the dining table, near the heating vent. He is a little thinner, and is developing some bald patches on the backs of his legs where new fur isn't growing to replace the old. He is a little slower, and we can feel nodules under his skin. Still, he doesn't seem to be in pain, and his appetite for food, attention, and watching through the window is as strong as ever, so I hope that he will remain with us through the holidays. Winter may be upon us, but we don't have to succumb...not just yet.

Junk food junkie

Fig is a real junk food junkie. Earlier this year he was happily downing paper-thin sheets of dried seaweed from the Asian grocery store, and his fondness for bacon has been described elsewhere in this blog. A friend recently offered Fig a fried pork rind, and a new love affair was born. I don't know if it is the salt, the crunch, or the porcine echo redolent in those crispy nuggets that drives him wild, but he will happily hold them in his front paws when seated on the lap and munch them down. All he needs now is a six pack of Bud and a football game!

I hesitate to feed him such things, knowing they are not part of a wellness diet, but he enjoys them with such obvious relish that the quality of the days remaining to him seem more important, and I give in to his imploring eyes.