Canon in D

When I was sixteen, my dad let me get a cat. As soon as I heard the word go, I was off to the humane society to find my new friend. The first cat I saw upon entry was this little black kitten sharing a cage with another little tabby kitten. I found her to be very cute but figured I should check out the other cats before I made a final decision. As I cruised around looking at the other cats, I couldn't get that little black kitty off my mind. Looping back around to the front, I looked in on her again. As I was watching her I saw her get up, get a bite of food, then move back over near her cage mate. As she sat back down, she sat on the head of the other kitten in the cage. Soon after she sat down, the tabby reached his paw up and tapped her a few times, like he was saying "hey uh, excuse me could you move a little?" The little black kitty just squinted her eyes and dug in further. I laughed, appreciating her attitude. This cat was mine.

She came home with me that day. Tiny and shy, she hid under the bed for the first three days. I named her Raven.

Raven was my companion through college when I was living alone. Shortly after I graduated from college, I started dating a man that I had met through a mutual friend. Raven was very territorial of me and was really a one-person cat so this new man in my life was not a development that sat well with her. She was combative and aggressive towards him. One night, he was drunk and messing with her and she scratched him. Hard. In a drunken fit of rage, he picked her up and threw her. I should have dumped him right then.

Raven traveled with me through this relationship, a move to Idaho, a move back to California and multiple houses and apartments in between. She lived through the addition of three cats and a rabbit to the household. She hated all of it.

I didn't give her as much attention in the last three years of her life as I had for the first six. I was wrapped up in stress, depression and an unhealthy relationship. I was making poor and impulsive choices, and a lot of them, the first few years after undergrad. She was still my girl and I still loved her, but my life was full of other chosen distractions.

When we moved back to California into a tiny basement apartment in San Francisco with the other three cats and rabbit in tow, she started to deteriorate. She spent a lot of time in a room by herself because she didn't like the other cats. My current cat, Noodle, used to look at her through the window of this room. I always thought he had a bit of a crush on her.

About a year after we moved back to San Francisco, she started to lose weight rapidly. She stopped eating and her once soft and shiny coat, like black silk, had begun to dry out and became dull. I took her to the vet. Raven had cancer. The options were expensive and painful surgery that would extend her life for six months at the most or put her down. The decision was obvious-I wasn't going to make my little girl suffer-but the decision was heart-wrenching. I knew that Raven had given up.

I felt tremendous guilt for the life I had given her in her final three years. She was my girl and I had let her down. I spent the last night of her life on the couch with her, crying and pouring love on her, the love that she deserved. The next day, I took her in to the vet and let her go.

After she was gone, I felt a strong urge to listen to Pachelbel's Canon in D. It was the first classical song I had ever heard and I loved the beautiful, flowing sadness mixed with pieces of joy. Much like Raven's life. I listened to it over and over again in the days after she passed. She died eight years ago and I haven't listened to the song again until now. It's been too hard to do so.

I still feel guilt around the way her life turned out. I think that's the reason that Noodle is spoiled rotten. And I'm ok with that.