All my life, I have been asking G-d to send me a telegram every once in a while, to let me know what to expect. Surprisingly, it happens more often than I realize, and instead of paying attention I misread the direct communication.
Three nights ago, I had a dream in which I was playing with an adult male cat who died suddenly, and in the dream, I was quite saddened and disturbed by the whole event. I had to tell myself that not every cat survives. When I woke up, I went Freudian and decided that the cat was a metaphor for my pregnancy concerns and anxiety, though it perplexed me that the cat was male, when I know that I am pregnant with a girl.
Turns out, and this is certainly not the first time in my life that I have experienced prescient dreaming, it was a telegram trying to prepare me in the most literal way possible: I was going to lose a male cat.
In addition, according to the doctor, Sarel's problems began the day my grandfather died, although I did not notice it until it was more advanced and severe. Sarel and my grandfather essentially died of the same medical problem, shut down of the waste disposal systems in the body.
And in the most eerie manifestation of all, when I returned home sans Sarel and full of sadness, there was a message on my cell phone of Sarel crying. I have no idea how a cat calls its owner to say good-bye, but he managed it.
It was my choice to put him to sleep, because I was told that there was no guarantee that he would not die in a few days anyway; if he would live, he would need constant medical supervision for the rest of his life, which could very well have been for another seven years, at least.
I chose my welfare and health, and the care of my child. I could not even touch Sarel after the surgery because it might have caused complications for the pregnancy. It was painful for me to know that he needed attention and physical touch, and I was physically recoiling from him, out of concern for myself. Conflicted about the decision, I could not imagine the possibility of taking care of a new baby and a chronically ill cat on my own, as a single parent.
I rescued Sarel approximately seven years ago, after he had been run over by a car. He lost his tail in the traumatic event, but he had all these years living in a home, eating well, destroying my couches and getting lots of love and attention. Rare for a feline, he had a "posse," every morning when I would let him outside there would be three or four cats waiting for him, rubbing up against him and playing with him. Sarel had a rare kindness about him, and would actively recruit kittens to come live in our garden; he knew I would take care of his friends as I had taken care of him, so many years ago.
I will miss him, and I will tell the baby about him. First I must tell his brother Harry "The Highlander."
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