I’ll never forget the day she came home to stay with us – so small she could sit inside my open hand, eyes still shut and completely helpless. It was supposed to be temporary. We were fostering her and a couple of her littermates until we could find them permanent, loving homes. I knew deep down we had found her home.
She was barely two weeks old, rescued from a feral momma in Ramona, CA. From day one, she was a talker, always interacting with us using her various meows and other sounds. We bottle fed her, cuddled, and played with her. I loved her gray tabby coat complete with the signature M on her forehead and polka-dotted belly. There was such playfulness and sincerity in those yellow eyes. She followed us around like a puppy would.
From that day on, she was a part of our family. Joining myself, Anthony, and big sister, Nico. Wherever we were, she wanted to be. She’d sit on the edge of the bathtub cleaning herself while I showered. She and Nico slept curled up at the end of our bed and she turned into our 5am alarm clock. She had this voracious appetite that spoke to us every morning. Feed me! Feed me now! It wasn’t until several years later that we decided to get a baby gate to keep her contained in the living room so we could catch a few more zzz’s. Not surprisingly, she carried a little extra weight and jumping the gate was not an option for Tela.
That was her name- Tela (pronounced Teela), after the blissful, jewel of a song written and performed by the band Phish. The song was about a lonely, aging colonel in love with a woman so beautiful he questions her very existence. Over the years, Tela was shortened to Tees. She was Tees to those who knew and loved her most.
She was quirky and funny and had an odd fascination with Q-tips. We could never swab in peace as she’d be right there batting it out of our hands. She could sit for hours in the window stalking the oblivious chirping birds above. She used to greet me with her noisy chatter every evening as if to say ‘Where have you been all day!? I’m starving!’ After quieting the beast in her belly she would curl up in my lap and purr loudly, kneading my tummy, nuzzling my hair, and drifting off into her blissful comfort zone.
In all honesty, she changed our life forever. Tela was like our child. We had to feed her, change her litter box, take her for check-ups, and give her lots of attention. In some ways, we spoiled her too much – allowing stolen bites of cereal and sips of milk. She was the alpha of the house – a little selfish – okay, very selfish – not wanting to share her food, her litter box, or our attention. She ruled the Shea house and she knew it. She was a happy kitty and absolutely loved people. She’d be the first to greet you at the door and welcome you into our home. You may have gotten a knead or two – also known as a kitty massage. She acted so human sometimes I think she thought she was one of us.
We taught her tricks too – things people assured us cats could never learn. We taught her to fetch and play defense. We’d call her ‘Air Tela’ – jumping so high off the ground and contorting her body in such a way to block the toy mouse from the goal. She learned to put both hands in mine and dance with her momma. We delighted in her intelligence, her personality, her stubbornness, and her spirit.
Tela taught us a lot too. She taught us about friendship and how to learn to live with another despite their imperfections and irritating habits (mostly hers, I have to admit). She taught us about parenting, serving as one of our experimental children – both playful and stern as the moment required. She taught us about forgiveness. There were the times I accidentally stepped on her tail or stepped on her paw. There were times we left her for vacations or waited too long to change her litter. Each time she’d let us know she wasn’t happy in her Tela way, but she came back to curl up next to us and purr, nuzzling and kissing us to let us know she’d forgiven us, and life could go on as it once had.
What she taught us above all was unconditional love. She always wanted to be with us, wherever we were, whatever we were doing. She didn’t always demand our attention, content to lie nearby where she could see us, or just hover on the periphery. She loved us when we were feeling ugly, when we were sick, when we were sad, and this did not change as her health began to fail.
Eight years later, as I ponder our life together, it’s hard to believe that hers is over. We’ve been through so much together – through several moves, across three states, and too many apartments to name. She’s hung with us through job changes, frustration, marriage, and a new baby. Above all else, she’s loved us and adored us, and we have loved and adored her.
We didn’t know just how much she was hurting, but now she will hurt no more. For the past three years she has battled with chronic constipation that recently developed into a nasty and irreversible condition known as megacolon. She was in pain, although most of the time you wouldn’t know it. She hid her suffering well, but we knew it was getting worse. The time between vet visits was getting shorter and shorter and her pain was getting greater and greater, thus leaving us with one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever had to make. Her pain went away forever on October 26, 2011. I know she loves us still, and we love her, and somehow I know we always will.
Rest in peace sweet Tees.
