In mid-November, my beloved cat, Latte, appeared to be in her final days. She’d dropped a significant amount of weight. Her interest in food was waning. And she just had that look. Her eyes appeared to be unfocused, and her head was a little droopy.
We went to the vet and had blood work done, and while it came back largely negative, a couple of markers were higher than normal, which could indicate cancer. At the age of 16, and after losing so much weight, the vet gave me little assurance that Latte could survive a cancer surgery, even if we did further testing. When I asked if there was any way Latte could make it another year, she said no.
I took Latte home, hoping and praying she’d make it through Thanksgiving. My 89-year-old mom has gotten quite close to Latte over the last year. My new wife and I moved both of our mothers into our apartment a month after we got married last year to continue caring for them. Mom left her house of 35 years, making it a difficult transition for her. But Latte has been a constant companion for Mom since she moved in, sleeping right next to her at night and hanging out with her during much of the day.
I did my best to prepare Mom for Latte’s death but probably failed. At the same time, I prayed for more time with Latte. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I included Hezekiah in my prayer. Remember how God granted Hezekiah 15 more years after he learned about his terminal illness (2 Kings 20)? I didn’t receive a clear affirmative answer. I only knew that having Latte here would continue to comfort my mom. And yeah, me too.
Surprisingly, Latte made it through Thanksgiving. And then Christmas. Just the other day, I noticed she had gained a little weight on the prescription cat food my vet recommended. She still isn’t grooming like she ought to, and I cannot change the fact that she’s 16, but it’s January 30, and she’s still here.
During a phone conversation with my buddy Randy this week, he pointed out the value of this extra time we’ve had with Latte.
Nothing about Latte’s condition feels reversed or resolved. And yet, these weeks have mattered. They’ve given my mom a steady presence in a season of change, and they’ve given me space to sit with gratitude rather than solely bracing for loss.
Borrowed time doesn’t fix what’s broken, but it gently prepares us for what’s coming. And that’s how this feels – a long goodbye. At this point, I’m simply grateful for the extra days.
