Warmth of Her Fur: Memories of My Beloved Cat

Warmth of Her Fur: Memories of My Beloved Cat

By: Elyza Micah Fuerzas

"Dear Theodosia, what to say to you?"

19th of September 2020, I lost my cat Theodosia. I named her after the daughter of Aaron Burr (an American icon and a character of the musical “Hamilton”). I named her specifically that, as there was the most precious song addressed to a daughter from the said musical, "Dear Theodosia." I sing it to her and that was our form of bond. She was like a child to me, and surely I was beyond devastated when I had to say goodbye, one last time.

"You knocked me out, I fall apart."

I had her on the 1st of September and lost her just 18 days after. In that short span, I've got to learn love, giving and receiving—and the purest form. I cried harder than how I thought I should be. I never knew that love, even something that lasts shortly, could hurt in its loss, and the wound would seem to last for considerable days. I couldn't go on, I couldn't function well. I always think of her. Our routine; how she nibbles my foot every morning and how she grabs my hand and every single day I hold her on the way to our store where she would be sort of supervising—the madam that she is. Then she would lay on my chest and sleep every afternoon or sit on my lap as I did my projects.

I could never forget how she came up to me when I was giving up on my writing endeavors. And subtly she inspired me to go on. It was simple— just the idea of someone being present in troubling times, especially as it was quarantine, when my already worrisome mental health is even more drastically damaged and it seem that I had no one to go to or an outdoor vacation treatment to suffice—a warm cuddly fur would do. She was there at the most crucial time, buried her head on my shoulders and the warmth would stay to ignite the passion I thought I would be losing.

I was almost going to give up; as house responsibilities, the family's small business and school responsibilities collide. I feel that every single while, I need confirmation that I am doing well or that I am doing right. I remember staring at a blank page supposed to be an article due. I was in crisis if I should go on or not. Theodosia licked my hand and sat beside it. And I'm pretty sure she's telling me to go on, and that I am doing well and I'm doing right.

My healing from the grief is still in process. As of now, I remember her in the most extensive way I could think of, from filling my stuff with pictures of her to cherishing her amazing gifts. Her gift of a realization that I had the ability to love something unfathomably. And an inspiration to go on with my passion of writing. I may not feel her fur, but she left something so bizarre, something I would carry as long as I am alive.

"I'm dedicating every day to you."

I promised her to be a content of everything I do. Be it writing an article, a poem or a song. She is my melody and my lyric, my every endearing sentence. As my cat brought out the best of me, she will always have the special place in my heart, and I hope that heaven has a special place for her too, then I would try my best to get there and feel her fur once more.