Emotional Bonds: My Journey with Grandma’s Cat Willow

When people die, loved ones and family have to figure out what to do with their possessions and pets. My grandma’s cat has come to stay with me. Willow does best when she has lots of attention and loves being around people. After Grandma’s stroke, she spent a lot more time at home, and it was a perfect match. The two of them spent hours watching television in Grandma’s recliner. Her caregivers would put a heating pad on her lap, and Willow would lie down on the heating pad. I received several photos of Willow lying in my grandma’s newspaper because she wanted to be the center of attention. My grandmother loved to shop via catalogs. Growing up, she bought fabulous outfits from Catalogs for my siblings and me. Upon getting Willow, she continued to shop via catalogs for her new cat. I remember visiting her a few months after she’d had Willow, and the number of new toys that littered the floor astounded me.
One of the new toys was a stuffed animal of a trout. I asked my grandma where she got it. With Willow sitting on her lap, grinning from her recliner, she said, ” I got it from one of my catalogs; it has catnip.” My grandma had a history of loving cats. The first cat I’m aware she had as an adult was a Siamese mix named Babe. I was regaled by stories from Grandma about how Babe would somehow end up in Grandpa’s car on his way to work. He would be unaware that Babe was in the car until he was almost out of the neighborhood, and then he would hear the cries of an unhappy cat. He would return home, drop off Babe, and rush to work. My dad had a very special relationship with Babe; my aunt often called her ” your dad’s cat.” After Babe passed, they adopted a purebred Siamese cat named Bear. I don’t have many memories of Bear. I remember looking underneath my grandma’s bed as a little kid to see what she looked like. She might have hissed at me, but I remember her not being interested in interacting with me and my siblings.
The third cat of my grandma’s is the one that I have the clearest memories of. Pearl was a stray that one of my grandmother’s coworkers had been feeding and needed to find a new home. Bear had been a few years, and she was ready for a new cat. Pearl came with a complication of feline diabetes. She needed shots of insulin twice a day, which my grandmother dutifully dispensed. Our monthly dinners at Longhorns would be cut short so she could return in time to give Pearl her twice-daily injections. Unfortunately, Pearl’s life was cut short by seizures caused by her diabetes. For many reasons, my grandmother did not get another cat until Willow. It was at my dad’s suggestion that she got another cat. The stroke took away a lot of her independence. She could no longer drive, and it was harder to leave the house. She started hosting her friends more in her home, had full-time caregivers, and began the last part of her life. Having another cat brought her a lot of joy.
Willow was with my grandmother for four and a half, almost five years. My dad brought her to me a few weeks after her death once I was moved into my new place. She spent much time underneath the bed the first few days she was with me. She would come out for affection or treats if I sat on the bedroom floor. I was so excited to see her the day she was dropped off. I ran up to my apartment and shouted, “Willow!”. When she finally came out from underneath the bed, she started bobbing her head and staring at me. Her look said, “You’re not who I’ve been living with for the past several years, but you look familiar.” The noises in the apartment are still a source of anxiety. The dryer, washing machine, and fan are unknown foes to be hidden from. After a few days, she began to eat her meals. She has taken it as her mission to ensure I never sleep too late. Between five and six am every day, she walks across my sleeping body, meowing. This morning, I did try to leave her outside of the bedroom. This was not acceptable. I’m unsure where she learned to do this, but she can push on the door with her paw, causing it to rattle incessantly. We came to an understanding she could have access to the bedroom, but I would not be waking up early.
Having Willow feels like a piece of my grandmother is still with me. It also makes the loss of my grandmother feel more absolute and less abstract. She would never have parted with Willow if she were coming back, still alive, etc. I’m nervous about seeing what the next chapter holds, and Willow will be along for the ride.