I audibly gasped when I caught a glimpse of blue fabric, the light cream nose and one orange whisker, packed tightly in a box I was rummaging through. It’s orange and white fleece-like fur was well worn and as soft as I remembered. The delicate, safflower blue, satin, ribbon was still adorning the neck of the small, stuffed, kitten with eyes of glass and the feel, and scent, of comfort.
I felt a strong, unearthly, whoosh that seemed to forcefully pull me back as it rewound the clock to a time, years ago, when my life had been turned upside down by deaths, accidents, trauma, and a misdiagnosis.
Thinking of those tumultuous times, I feel, and see, flashes of blurry days and sleepless nights. The events of those days don’t seem to fall neatly into a cohesive timeline. Instead, they come as flashes, skewed, heavy, some swirling and some clouded, some broken, and some strewn throughout.
At 46 years of age, that kitten had become my constant companion, although it wasn’t always visible. It puzzled me as to why I was fixated on the furry toy but fixated I was. It was if, “Nana’s special kitten,” as my two preemie grand kids called it, was the only constant in my life at that time. It was able to hold the emotions that were too much for me in those days of darkness.
Anna-Grace and Josiah must have sensed my need for the kitten, after all they called it, “Nana’s special kitten.” I can vividly see them carefully examining it as if to see what was so important about the floppy, worn, cat. They always asked to play with it but they never took it from my sight. They treated it as if it were a wounded child. Each time they came over they asked for the kitten. I wonder if they felt the emotion I had poured into it. I wonder if they felt the calming effect of its presence as I had.
As I held it to my cheek this afternoon I was still able to feel its soothing ability. I’d wondered why a grown woman, a grandmother, would cling to a stuffed kitten as if it were a life raft.
It now sits on a shelf of the bookcase in my bedroom. I see it daily, and at times like tonight, pluck it from its perch and pull it close to my face while I sleep.
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