If a cat was here “within living memory,” that means there are people at today’s picnic table who knew them in person.
We remember every detail.
Our faces glow like bonfires as we tell you: His whiskers were as curly as a fancy French mustache. Her belly was softer than feathers. He knew the word “nighty-night.” She saved my life.
We were here in the time of the great ones, whose paws no longer touch the Earth.
And at Tabby’s Place, “living memory” is a way of life.
Sharing our lives with cats, we are never far from bliss or tears. Most days, they squiggle together like ketchup and mustard on a Memorial Day veggie burger.
You know this bittersweet taste.
It floods you without permission, like a squall on a cloudless day. You may be making macaroni salad or waving a wand toy for Willow when, suddenly, Dewie descends upon you. Smoothie slips into your heart’s front pocket. Theodosia‘s face bursts like fireworks behind your eyes.
All at once, you are dangling between life and death, here and there, now and then, living and longing.
The lives we’ve lost slip back through the portal of memory. It is as though they are tapping your knee with their paws, asking for the treat of remembrance.
“Pet my head across space and time. I am still here.”
We can’t lay down the pain without losing the joy.
There is only one way to bear the twins of sorrow and love.
We become living memory.
We do not just remember the details of Dewie, as though he were some Revolutionary War battle: “Feline leukemia positive (FeLV+). Diabetic. Orange and white. Elderly.” No. We embody his mirth, like sparklers he lit just before he left.
The slaphappy cat in the creamsicle coat is here again, every time we let ourselves get excited about lunch or sunshine. He sends us his strength so we can comfort the weary, just like he did in his work as a therapy cat. He reminds us to remain a little ridiculous at all times. Preferably a lot.
We live, and he lives on.
We do not keep Smoothie’s story on a shelf. We are her essence unbottled, her legacy on legs. Every time we refuse to act our age, Smoothie sprints across heaven to celebrate. The dowager Siamese is alive every time we are impish and irrepressible, having too much fun to feel old.
She is the persevering purr when we rise up, even though our hips or hearts hurt. She is warm in our laps when we sit down to listen to someone who has no one to tell their tales.
We live, and she lives on.
We do not just talk about Theodosia, the cat who spoke for herself. We are her living breath, in a speech with no end. Theodosia lives on in everyone who squawks their own worth, even if their knees wobble. She is the granny meow inside our boldness, prodding us to ask for the love we need.
Every time we welcome a stranger who thinks they are outside love’s circle, Theodosia’s pewter paws are pacing around us with pride.
We live, and she lives on.
We do not merely build towers to Pisa, though she deserves many monuments. We carry her light every time we lean on sunbeams. She who loved solitude will dapple us with dignity as we sit in her solarium. The calico introvert is present in our patience when we love others just the way they are.
We live, and she lives on.
They have left our sight, yet they rest in power. Our friends are all still here, every time memory changes our lives.
Moo Moo snuggles up to our shins when we make the effort to include the quietest person in the room. Silver scampers to our side when we rearrange our day around someone smaller than ourselves. Fergie sashays towards us on her knobby nutmeg legs when we earn a shy cat’s trust.
Olivia still feels safe in our presence when we step gently through each other’s lives. Jack‘s joy is reborn each time we expect greatness. Abacus guffaws at our corny jokes. Merriweather weaves between our ankles. Boeing soars when we love over the horizon of heartbreak.
Bump, healthy and whole, speeds across the rainbows, rejoicing in our bravery.
Quinn cheers every time hope seems cornered, but we find a way anyway.
They are more than memories, these friends who became family.
They are living memory.
We are not the same people we were before we loved them. We are now The Ones Who Loved Dewie, and Smoothie, and all the rest. We have been changed. We have a mission to be their love alive.
I believe we will see them again in person, in a place where memory gives way to living forever.
I believe that, even now, they are more fully alive than we can imagine.
But until the day we are together, we are never truly apart.
Memorial Day is a promise.
We are still within living memory.