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Forever Loved: Rashida

Forever Loved: Rashida

You never know, at “hello,” how deeply you will love someone.

There are inklings, to be sure. But the last hour of friendship knows secrets it cannot tell the first.

Today, I cannot tell you how much we will miss Rashida.

In 2022, Rashida’s eyes were open.

I can’t tell you, because my brain can’t get through to my heart. This number cannot be reached as dialed; please try your call again. The voice mailbox is full.

Perhaps my heart is screening her calls. She will not answer an unrecognized number, and this one comes from some strange country where Rashida is gone. That can’t be right.

No. Rashida is still in her full radiance. I will walk into the Development Office and see that face as round as a dahlia, all autumn plumage and expectation. Rashida will roar like a victory piccolo, her soprano splitting the day into light. She will greet everyone like a celebrity, whinnying their name in the dialect of “pet me!” She will make every slumping so-and-so feel like the sun.

She will do this, because she has always done this, even under clouds thick enough to break a spoon.

We glimpsed this all the way back at “hello.” Our newest resident had lost her person at age fifteen-plus. She had untreated diabetes and every right to be enraged. With her blood glucose straining the sky, her limbs must have felt like lead. The people she trusted were still in her memories, but not in her sight.

Rashida was not angry. Her heart and mind were unanimous. She was not sure where she was, other than it was “here, now.” As long as she was here, she was going to love. She was going to do it with verve and panache. She whooped our names the first time she heard them.

We loved her instantly. But the love on that day was one little green leaf on the landscape to come.

Rashida’s saw it all back then. She had two eyes at the time, golden gazing balls that followed wand toys and conversation with total attention. Rashida was not easily distracted. If you told her a story, she listened to the end. If you got tangled in the briars of detail, stammering through switchbacks that would bore even Mister Rogers, Rashida paid attention.

But there was never a day when she did not see.

Rashida was never anywhere but here.

My heart keeps hanging up on my mind, because it insists Rashida is still here.

I can accept that Rashida is no longer in her first apartment at Tabby’s Place. The Lounge is sunlit and lovely, and if you are lucky, someone may drop a squiggle of ramen. Rashida honored the sunbeams for a time. She dozed belly-up, to make the clouds and angels giggle at her feathery floof. Her diabetes signed a treaty with our vet team, and her legs felt light enough to play again.

But there were cats in the Lounge, and no contraband ramen can compare to standing at the summit of one’s species. Even as Rashida’s eyes developed intractable issues, she asked for what she wanted: the opportunity to be one hundred percent here, with one hundred percent humans.

And that is how the Development Office became the center of the world.

This is my brain speaking now, free of exaggeration. When Rashida takes the throne, the axis of the planet adjusts accordingly. She lost one eye and the use of the second, but Rashida saw the sight of her life.

She had a private suite, the better to host her fans. The stream of the smitten widened to a mighty river, and Rashida rejoiced in the rapids.

She is still rejoicing. My heart is telling you, she is still rejoicing.

Time thinned her petals, and diabetes proved a stubborn duelist. Never one to complain, Rashida processed her frustration by pulling out her fur. Like everything else, this was simply a step into greater radiance. It led us to give her the Haircut of Happiness, a close shave that made her peachy paisley feel like velvet.

This was no standard “lion cut.” This was the coiffure of a queen.

My heart has called up my hands, and they can both still feel that velveteen, rumbling with a purr that could mend everything broken. Rashida is still here. She has to be.

Rashida’s happiest “here” was between the hands and agenda items of Lisa, our Development Coordinator. Neither fleece nor treat could lure Rashida from Lisa’s desk, where she administered wisdom and head-bonks. Their friendship became family. We all came to expect that Lisa’s emails would include Rashida commentary. We learned that statements such as “sasgshhhh777777” mean “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Even as age rolled up its sleeves and pulled no punches, Rashida found new reasons to radiate.

Volunteers, people who have kindness where ordinary folk have muscles and bones, promenaded Rashida through our gardens. Donors sat down, creating Earth’s most underrated resource: laps.

Rashida taught me the ancient art of the forehead promise, a lengthy brow-to-brow communion in which you forget who is the cat and who is the human. All that matters is that you are both here.

She is here. My heart has folded its arms and turned its head. It will not make eye contact with my mind. She is still here.

We could not know, at “hello,” that Rashida would become our best friend. This is not an exclusive title. Rashida was the best friend of many, but each bond was unique. She kept growing her collection of soulmates until the day that she died, I do not believe she stopped then.

Rashida had been “slowing down,” as they say, yet no diagnostics dredged up an answer. Her weight dropped, her blood glucose bellowed, and she conserved her whoops to make sure she had at least one left for every human. Freeze-dried chicken lost its mystique. The leap from floor to lap expanded to Everest.

Rashida still raised her head, that lone geode eye meeting mine when I cooed, “Sheedy Beads, the girl I need.”

But Rashida had set her sights on the “here” we cannot glimpse until we all get there together.

Full of strength and dignity, our beautiful dahlia made herself clear. We were her happiness and her home. She had love enough for the journey ahead. This was not the last hour of friendship, for there is no such thing.

The final purrs to reach our ears are a down payment on the realm where Rashida will welcome us all home.

My heart picks up the phone. It cannot accept what my brain is reporting, but it will not hang up. It will hang onto every glimmer that Rashida is still here. She is in the dahlias of autumn and the skips of the keyboard. She is in the sound of our names spoken by those who know us and love us anyway. She is the velvet that softens the sharp edges of the morning.

Rashida, beloved, we will see you in the “here” where every tear is wiped away.

Until we meet again, darling girl.

Thanks to a few of Rashida’s other best friends for the following reflections:

Allison, Board member: “I had the privilege of taking Rashida to the eye doctor a couple of times. She was so good! She’d walk out of her carrier on to their warm floors, survey the room like she owned the place, and then lay down and wait for the vet. She was a brave, confident, sassy lady. She didn’t always have an easy life with the diabetes and eye discomfort but she took it in stride and would give you a piece of her mind if she was not happy. I loved her sass and I loved sitting and talking with her in your office. We had two way conversations and she was the lead! I will miss my friend greatly. She left her paw prints on my heart and is running free and sassy in the sunshine now. Bless you beautiful girl!”

Kitty LeFey, Volunteer: “Rashida’s external beauty drew much attention. Her internal beauty kept us all heaping as much love on her as we could. From her sassy tail swishes to her assistance with cleaning or anything else requiring time in her office, Rashida was everything we wanted and needed from a furry friend. She was snuggly, sweet, chirpy, and very patient. She showed us what adapting looks like, and she gave us glimpses into our best selves. We are less without Rashida. Her absence will be felt forever.”

Tiff, Staff: “Rashida came to us, so beautiful and fluffy with a bit of an attitude :that was very much allowed!!!! She was by all means one of the toughest cats I’ve ever had the pleasure of caring for. She has been through hell and back but continued to go strong. We were so lucky to have her, and she loved her office mates just as much as they loved her. I hope she can see again and has a thick, beautiful coat of hair.”

Rashida assisting Lisa

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