musingsonwomenshealth.com

I saw a cat on the sidewalk this morning. I was walking back to my rooms after breakfast in Kerikeri and had not noticed it earlier. I reached down to pet it, but it seemed cold and didn’t stir. Lying on its side, its little face wore a peace that only sun or death can provide -and there was no sun. I stopped for a moment, stunned, I suppose.

I looked around to see if it may have been hit by a car, or perhaps mauled by a predator, but there were no signs of struggle anywhere. It’s fur was smooth and unruffled; there was no blood. Except for the tiny ants milling about its face, it could have been asleep -and perhaps it was, but somewhere else… Its lifeless eyes were focussed on something further away than I could see, and in the very human way we have of hoping for the best, I wanted to think it had died while hunting -died while doing what it was born to do- unaware that it was itself being stalked by that which stalks us all.

But it changed my day. I never expected to encounter Death so early in the morning, and yet there are no schedules for death, I suppose. No convenient times. We always hope for it to creep up silently in the night, and take us gently, carefully -we are, in truth, all we have. Our vessel is a thin and fragile shell; the wrapping was not designed for heavy wear. And yet, the cat seemed untroubled -serene, perhaps- so I paused a moment in silent acknowledgment of what had passed, then moved on with a gentle sigh to live my day as best I could.