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Sable’s nicknames were sweet girl and honeybee. I also referred to her in conversation sometimes as a salty diva because she was very much the Primadonna. She would be seeking attention one minute, and then I would walk by her a few minutes later and she would bite my foot just because she was annoyed at my presence. She never really liked toys and knew how to remove a collar. She was absolutely food crazy, and if she really liked you she would let you hold one of her paws while she took a nap. An absolute lap cat, she did not love being held but would refuse to get off of you no matter what you needed to do, or how quickly you needed to do it.

Sable was born sometime in the spring of 2014. I never got the absolute correct date. But I got her in April 2015 so she was between eight and 10 months old at the time. At first the Humane Society would not let me visit with her because they wanted her to be adopted with her former housemates. The owner had gone into hospice. I was on the verge of signing the paperwork for a sweet little black cat named Diamond, when they came in and told me I could see her because the other two cats from the same house had been adopted without her. She completely ignored me at first, until I put my hand on her scruff the way a mother cat would, and then she climbed all over me. She wasn’t the cat I was necessarily looking for that day, but apparently she was the one I needed.

Over a decade, several moves, friendships coming and going, and me trying to figure out what to do with my life, Sable has been there. She struggled with a stress related bladder disorder and a congenital lung condition. She hated wet food for most of her life, but would eat canned chicken or tuna. She also had this walk like the patterns in her fur were some kind of fashion statement, and always wanted me to turn on the faucet so she could drink from it. I never had to worry about her trying to go outside, and while she would watch the birds, she didn’t seem to care to try to catch them. Another nickname I jokingly had for her was sun patch cat. Because as with most cats, sunbathing was one of her favorite activities.

There is something about that face that I always felt was almost human but I could never explain why. She knew how to manipulate with those eyes. After she came back from the vet and they had had to give her a breathing tube during dental cleaning, she had lost her voice for about a week. She figured out that if she used the same tone even when she was recovered, I would think it was adorable and pitiful and give her what she wanted. Which was generally treats.

Sable passed away around 7 AM Sunday, August 31 of this year. She was losing her vision and mentally declining. Lung and liver conditions caught up with her and we were also dealing with a flea infestation. Someone removed all four sets of her claws as a kitten, so she had difficulty scratching let alone jumping to high places to get away from them. while I was treating my place and her, I missed the signs of anemia and she declined very suddenly. So this afternoon I laid her to rest.

The first thing she received were what I think of as grave gifts. I work well with water and fire magic. I gave her black mother of pearl, a cowry shell, and one other I don’t remember the name of. She received four stones. Blue kyanite, aquamarine, quartz, and agatized coral. I covered her with a blend of lavender blossoms, sea salt, some ground ginger, and a little dragon’s blood oil. The last thing was this champagne silk scarf I kept in my purse. We draped it over her before covering her up. I wanted her to have a true funeral, the kind of burial that ancient pagans would give those they love with all sorts of riches included in the grave. Before we filled in the grave, I finally just asked that her reincarnation would be a reward for all that she did. I was not in the frame of mind to decide what God’s to call. I had held her while the grave was dug. I had made an impression of her paw print in clay that I will paint later on. I was not a perfect pet parent, we frustrated each other and argued, and she gave me plenty of sass. I wanted to make sure, because this isn’t done enough, that she had a respectful sendoff. Too many sweet babies are just discarded, or owners treat them as accessories instead of members of the family. That was my first strong opinion I think, that pets are family, and I remember I took so much crap for that in third grade. Please keep your cats inside, make sure they know love every day, and don’t just discard them when they become slightly inconvenient.

The phrase memento vivere means remember to live. We are all getting swept away in the horror that is our world right now. I can translate sadness over the shitty way so many of us treat animals who love us into just doing more for the ones who have chosen me. I can acknowledge how awful our social climate is, and then prioritize doing things I enjoy like going out for coffee, artwork, thrifting and music, because personal happiness in the little moments is resistance to the darkness. I can prioritize remembering to say good morning or good night, checking on my friends occasionally without needing to be prompted, sending out a birthday text or condolence wishes, because those things forge our connection with each other. Say good night, memento mori, say good night and drive safe. Memento vivere, say good morning and you matter to me. Remember you will die, but also remember to live. Because as far as I’m concerned there are three things to do in life. Have a good time, try to learn something, and live in a way you can be proud of at the end. But I need to add to that. Be there in a genuine way for those you share this life with who are genuine with you.

Hail the traveler. Good night sweet girl.