Selina

While reading “Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched The World,” I started to remember my cat: the dear, departed Selina. And I thought it was time I wrote about her.

I begged for cats, when I was little. I love them now, and I did then. I was fairly young, so I don’t remember much about them coming into our house. But I do remember how her name came to be.

“Selina” was a name I’d chosen for myself, when I pretended to be a superhero. I would swish around in a cape and pretend to save the world from evildoers. So when I decided to name the tiny, black, scaredy-kitten “Selina,” I was giving her something very precious to me. I was showing her I loved her.

I didn’t expect her to be a superhero, and she wasn’t. She would bolt from the room if she was startled, either by an unexpected sound, or by someone walking toward her too fast. Her eyes were almost open as wide as they would go, and she almost always looked like she was getting ready to run if need be.

And I loved her for it.

My favorite thing to do with her was put her in my lap and rub her stomach. This was because, when I did that, she
would start licking the hand that petted her. Like all cats, she had a rough, sandpaper tongue. If I petted her for too long, she would lick my arm until it was almost raw.

With Selina, I learned caution, how to approach without spooking someone. How to show I have peaceful intentions.
This skill, when I remember to apply it, serves me extremely well. Some humans are just as afraid as she was, and I treat them with the same respect and care my cat taught me.

You’re probably not supposed to pick favorites among your cats, but I think she was always my favorite. The entire family loved her. She was sweet, she rarely fought, and she never caused us any real problems, unlike the other cat we adopted along with her, Kathleen. (I still love her, but man, she can be a pain in the butt sometimes.) I think I only heard Selina hiss once.

But a few years ago, something went wrong. There was blood on some papers, and we figured out it was coming from her. At first, we thought the blood was coming from her rear end.

But when we got to the vet, it turned out it was just her paw. We all breathed a sigh of relief, because there turned out to be nothing wrong.

Yet.

The wound on her paw never healed. Most of the things the vet told us were kind of a blur, but I remember it having something to do with her kidneys not working right. All I knew was that my baby, my Selina, was sick and I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid for her. I didn’t want her to die.

And she didn’t. She ended up getting better. She came home with us, and I was so grateful she was okay. Things calmed down for little while.

Then one day, she shot out of the litterbox screaming and yowling. That wasn’t like Selina. She didn’t sound like that. It was clear she was in a lot of pain.

It turns out, her kidneys had shut down completely. She wouldn’t be able to heal anything anymore. But she was hurting. Hurting so badly. And she wasn’t going to get better.

So we decided it would be kinder to put her down, so she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

I remember the drive to the vet’s, somber and sad. I remember them giving her two shots. I think the first was to sedate her, and the second was the euthanasia.

I knew she was gone long before the vet told us she was. There’s a stillness that only the dead have. I knew my Selina, and she wasn’t there anymore.

The vet left us to mourn. We all cried, and hugged each other, and I petted her for the last time. Strangely, she still felt warm. But she was still gone.

I cried, and I felt my heart breaking. My baby, my Selina, my favorite, my kitty, was gone.

She was cremated, and we keep her ashes on a shelf. The veterinarian gave us a picture to keep. We mourned.

I still miss her. I think I always will. In fact, even as I type, I am crying.

I don’t know what grief is like for other people, but mine never goes away. I can go without thinking about for awhile, but when I do remember, it always hurts. I was hoping that maybe writing this would ease the pain a little. I don’t know if it will or not, but it’s worth a try.

Some people don’t seem to understand that Selina wasn’t just a cat to me. I bonded with her more strongly than I have with a human. Maybe it’s because I understood her, maybe it’s because I didn’t hold back any love since I knew she’d never hurt me, maybe that’s just how I am with animals.

But when I think of her, I always call her “my baby”. I’m not a mother, and I don’t ever intend to be. So I don’t know what a bond is like with a mother and her child, and I probably never will. It’s probably not comparable.

But I loved her. And I think she loved me too. And I miss her so badly, that when I remember it, I don’t just cry. I wail, and sob, and wonder if I’ll ever be free of this awful pain.

But even if I’m not, I would still do it all over again. I have so many happy memories of her that I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

I just wished she could have stayed with us a little longer. She was only nine when she died.

The best I can do is hope that if there is an afterlife, she’s happy there.

Rest in peace, Selina.

I'll always remember you, baby.