This wasn’t how I meant to spend Valentine’s Day.

In a perfect world, I would have spent it with the one I love, enjoying an appetizer and beverage by candlelight.

The problem? I don’t have someone that I love. Not like that, anyway.

Instead, I came home and spent it with a cat.
Not just any cat. I spent my Valentine’s Day with Nikko, the almost 18 year-old cat that has partnered with me to raise my daughters. The same cat that has shared my Friday night, olive-oiled popcorn and who has watched the Animal Planet with me and the kids.

I had other plans for Valentines Day, 2014. I meant to drive out to a neighboring community and attend a reading of local writers that a dear friend helped to coordinate. But when I got home after work, I saw my Nikko at the top of the stairs, limp and too weak to meow. When I picked her up, she pressed her little wet nose into my neck, and I knew.I knew that I would have to do something I hate: cancel last-minute on a friend. I also knew that almost two decades of unconditional love would be ending too soon. And mostly I knew that it was time to stop running down my never-ending to-do list and simply be in the moment, silently celebrating Nikko’s every inhalation and exhalation.And two days later, surrounded by her entire weeping family, Nikko drew her last breath and passed away. It wasn’t until I paid the vet bill that I realized she had died on my estranged mother’s birthday, having lived longer with us than my mother had with any of her six children.

I lived with Nikko longer than I have with anyone besides my daughters. Longer than I lived with  either  of my parents. Much longer than I lived with my husband. And living with this much-loved feline, I learned a few important lessons.

1) Transformation is always possible.

We adopted Nikko in 1996. She was a self-involved kitten who appeared impervious to the girls’ needs until 2003, when suddenly, she changed. Nikko became more affectionate and playful,  raking her paws through the girls’ hair and giving intense scalp massages, sleeping with them when requested, and initiating games of tag.

2) Ask for what you want.

Life is short. Why hint at what you want when you could simply ask?
If Nikko weren’t an assertive cat, I would never have known that she enjoyed Italian dressing and vigorous spankings and having the bald spots on her temples rubbed. Because of her insistence, I believe her life was more fulfilled.

3) Help coordinate your own ending.

Napping Nikko

As a cat, there was little Nikko could do to make end of life plans. But watching her in the last days, surrounded by her family, then assisted by a vet for pain management was pretty inspiring. Most of us humans won’t be as fortunate. And it got me to thinking, what can I do to streamline my own process to help my loved ones?

Long ago, I created a living will and filed my will with the court house, but what about funeral arrangements? An obituary?

I’m working on writing my obituary now. There’s something exciting about writing it. I can list the qualities I hope I am remembered for in advance, and then work on being those qualities while there’s still time. I can bid goodbye to the people I love, and make life easier for my survivors. I will also have a picture taken and made into a canvas so my daughters will have at least one picture I won’t be embarrassed to have at my services.

I can’t imagine a more unconditional love than that of a pet.