I ain’t got no lies to tell. I didn’t really “do” Lent yesterday. And I didn’t really do it today, either.

I am a lazy slacker.

Yesterday, I started out with good intentions. As is my new custom, before I got out of bed, I concentrated on who my person was. I had her. I prayed. Then I thought…what am I giving up? She never said. Well, I knew it wouldn’t be toilet paper, so I set about my routine activities for the morning. And all I drink is water for about the first hour I’m awake, so I was safe there. I sent her a message and waited for her reply. I knew she wouldn’t give me virtual farming (that would be cruel and unjust) so I went to town on my game. I started a little laundry.

I poured me a giant glass of chocolate milk.

And that’s where I went wrong.

I had just sat my glass down when she answered that I could fast chocolate…or if I wanted to be really hard core: sugar. I wrote back no thanks, I’d done been down that treacherous road once this Holy Season, I would pass on a second day of it. And of course I couldn’t do chocolate since I’d just downed a big glass with bunny powder. So here we were.

I have another person in line, and she wasn’t making me give up anything, but I told her I’d fast dairy since I had that cheeseburger by accident on my no dairy day. Again, milk. So that was out. I am still waiting on several people to get back to me with prayers and one I have what she wants me to pray for, but not the sacrifice. I sighed. I guess I could just think something up.

It was then that my belly rumbled and I thought, “I’ll think about this later,” in Scarlett fashion and trundled into the kitchen to fix my customary Saturday brunch omelet. And hash browns. I wasn’t getting carried away doing anything. I’d slept in, in true sloth fashion, and hadn’t gotten in a big hurry to be up and at ’em. Why should I? A gorgeous East Tennessee spring day stretched ahead of me, with dinner and yoga at Baker’s this afternoon.

About the time I sat down with my breakfast to watch a rerun of Big Bang Theory, my phone went to chiming.

“The last ride,” Beth wrote in our group chat. A picture of her kitty, the magnificent Sage, sitting regally in her backseat.

This was disconcerting. Sage has been sick for a couple of months, off and on his food, and being very needy. He’s fifteen. Beth is struggling. I have never known of her taking him on random road trips. Her schnauzer is her ride or die. Sage is the curl up and purr.

We all began typing at once. She was indeed taking him to the vet. For that. Which is very brave, I don’t care who you are. Sage has had the good fortune of supreme health his entire life, and has never had to set paw in an clinic. That also reflects how good of a mom Beth is. She was taking him to LB’s vet, right down the road.

“Want me to come? You don’t have to be brave alone,” I wrote.

“No. It’s ok,” she replied.

I kept thinking, fifteen years. FIFTEEN YEARS. Sure, he’s “just a cat” but when you don’t have a child, your fur babies ARE your babies. It may sound ridiculous to some of you, but I’ll have you know I may not drop Lightning Bug off at school with a lunchbox, but I pat his little head and rub his little ears and look in his sweet brown eyes every day and tell him I love him and I’ll be home as soon as I can. I look after him, making sure he has food, water, and at least two tennis balls nearby. I open the curtains so he can sort of know what time it is. I tell him what I’m doing after work, so he won’t think I’m not coming back. I may not buy him running shoes and soccer lessons, but I read to him and stroke his head before I go to bed. I love my dog. He’s here, he loves me unconditionally, and he never says anything hurtful. He doesn’t lie. He only asks for love. So fifteen years with a cat? Beth was not okay. I knew this. But I also know that she values her personal time, and that she’s strong, and I couldn’t intrude no matter how badly I wanted to, no matter how much I believed she needed me there. It was to my great relief when I offered a second time, she relented.

Out the door I went.

When I got to the office, it was a madhouse as usual. A beautiful springer spaniel sprung around at the end of a faded and frayed purple leash. One of the girls finally got free and asked me what I needed. I told her I was just there for my friend Beth. Her expression immediately softened and she frantically pointed to a door just off the lobby. I was afraid I was too late, but I don’t want to just barge in like the Slim Jim man, either. I gave a couple of soft knocks and entered. Beth sat in a chair in the corner, weeping. In her lap was a soft pink blanket with hearts printed on it. And on the blanket was a beautiful black and white fluffball that I knew to be Sage. With one hand, I rubbed Beth’s back, and with the other, I stroked Sage. Because that’s what you do when you meet a kitty. You reach for their fur, to see if it is as soft as it looks.

It was.

Dr. Biggs had already administered the sleepy time medicine that would put him under so he could feel no pain. Sage was drifting, but I looked into his golden eyes before he went on to his next life. He was Cat Royalty, remaining aloof and dignified to the end. He was in his momma’s lap, and all was right with him. And I prayed.

I cannot write anymore about that.

So all that’s left of Sage for Beth are the memories of a little black and white floof marching over to her (twice) at the shelter. Rubbing his head into her knuckles. Chasing straw wrappers until they became unattainable under the couch. Sitting in the window, waiting for his mom to get home. She has a multitude of pictures to remember him by, and a little clipping of his satiny fur.

I brought Beth back here with me. It was a beautiful sunshine-y day for Mr. Sage to be frolicking in Cat Heaven with his new wings. I’m sure he wouldn’t be trying them out until nobody was looking, though. He’s way too mature to be seen acting a fool.

And so I got Beth situated on the couch with my alpaca blankie that’s dried an ocean of tears, a fresh box of Kleenex, and a cold water. And I resumed my breakfast.

Beth looked at me agape.

“You left your breakfast?” I just kind of raised my eyebrows over my fork. Like, what else would I have done? “Uhh, hang on, I’m right in the middle of my omelet. Can this wait until Sheldon solves string theory and Leonard and Penny get together?”

No. When somebody is parting with their pet of fifteen years, you freaking drop it like it’s hot and go to hold their hand.

After some Sheldon and sugar cookies, Beth was feeling well enough to face the world and we got up enough speed for the wind through the sunroof to dry our tears. We had big plans, as I mentioned before, and the show would go on. It was probably best. Yoga is good for the soul. And so is salad. Or so they tell me.

Tracy’s house is always welcoming. Her dog is non-obtrusive, it isn’t like being here. And there’s room to spread out, although we tend to congregate in the kitchen. After all, that’s where all the action is. And we don’t want to miss out on anyything. Namely, baked goods.

Have I mentioned what a nice day it was? 77 for the high, but it didn’t feel the least bit oppressive, due to a nice breeze. The pollen wasn’t coating everything just yet, and truly, birds were singing as we carried our yoga mats out into her fenced backyard. It was so serene and perfect. And as we breathed in unison, and stretched our arms to the sky, then let them fall–with awareness– I was reminded of monarch butterflies gently flapping their wings. Seriously. It was beyond comprehension how absolutely perfect the afternoon was. We were shaded, and it was quiet, and we were just in tune.

Here’s the one we did. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9LmRtvSkgA

After it concluded, we lay on our backs and watched the clouds. Petey came over for kisses. He even did cobra pose with us.

So, like all good girls’ nights, we shared secrets and laughter and tears. We were missing two things: Rhonda and wine. But I was trying to be good, and had infused strawberry/cucumber water, which was delightfully refreshing.

I believe things happen for a reason. We’ve not had this dinner/ yoga night planned but for a few days. Sage’s final day just happened to coincide. And I’m so glad. I pray that Beth will find peace in time, I pray that she finds a little more every day. I pray for sweet Sophie, too, she’s lost her buddy as well. I hope Beth can focus on what a great life she gave her sweet boy, and how he went knowing exactly how much she loved him.

If only we could all be so lucky.

Soft kitty, warm kitty
Little ball of fur
Happy kitty, sleepy kitty
Purr purr purr....