Newsletter Article

Winter 2008/2009

Simone

by Stacy Weibley

About ten years ago, I met Simone. At the time, she was scrawny, disheveled, and one-eyed, all of which belied her true elegance and splendor. Someone had left her and her sister, emaciated, oozing with infection, and gasping for breath, in a chicken bucket to die. I was asked if I wanted to take them in and, if they survived, foster them until a permanent home could be found. My dear Belle, the love of my life at the time, had just passed away and I felt emotionally unprepared for new cats in my life– regardless, an immediate “yes” emitted from my lips, in a voice which I was not even sure was my own.

The following months were intense, at best. I was told to be prepared for the fact that the kittens’ lifeline was tenuous, but allowing them to die was just not an option for me. Bottle feedings were five times a day, which required daily trips home from work and various alarms throughout the night. When the kittens were big enough, I created a confined area in my bedroom within which my two sickly companions and I slept every evening. My boss would just shake his head at me when I arrived in the mornings with little sleep and a foggy head, and my partner at the time grew increasingly impatient with the amount of time I spent with the kittens.  

As the days passed, however, inklings of hope emerged. Day by day, their health improved.  After several months, the panic attacks, sleepless nights, and multitude of middle-of-the-night emergency room visits became worth it because, against all odds, they were becoming healthy, strong, shiny, and beautiful - on the inside and out. I was a proud mama (the word “foster” had long been removed as a prefix by this time) and a new woman. That is, until they were tested for Feline Leukemia. 

The vet who conducted the test came back into the treatment room where I was happily waiting with my newly frisky kittens, her eyes glazed, “I’m am so sorry, Stacy. They came back positive.” I later learned they would likely have very little time to live. 

I spent the next year constantly researching both Eastern and Western medical miracles, trying to ensure the kittens’ comfort and extend their time with me. For the majority of this time, I carried a tremendous sense of sadness, wanting desperately to be able to “save” them. I was most afraid for Simone because she was so tiny and appeared even more frail than her sister. The thought of failing her was eating me away.

And then it happened. Simone became suddenly ill and I realized she would not be with me for much longer. The last day she was on this earth, I laid with her on the bedroom floor for twelve hours, moving only imperceptibly in fear that I would disturb her. She seemed to have lost every ounce of strength and awareness when my partner came into the room to check on me and, once again, to try to encourage me to eat.  In this moment, however, Simone suddenly became alert, shifted from the position that she had adopted for the last several hours, and stared intently into my eyes. She was clearly trying to communicate something to me – and even my partner knew what it was – he was to leave. Simone kept looking into my eyes after he departed, and I knew – I finally knew. This whole time, I was not taking care of her, she was taking care of me. She wanted to be there for me until I shed my old skin, not the least of which involved moving on from this relationship. All of the pity I had bestowed upon her, I should have saved for myself. I was the one who had given up on myself in so many ways. Simone, on the other hand, lived each of her days with grace and joy. She made the most of every moment, chasing flies, enjoying the light of the sun, and showing off her shiny black coat. In the end, my sundry efforts to “save” her were futile, because she ultimately left when she was ready – and when she thought I was as well. 

It is truly amazing that, despite all of the time I spent with Simone, I never really saw her. Little did I know, she was teaching me so very many things: to be present, to give and receive love unconditionally, to stretch (!), to maintain a playful spirit, to rest as hard as I played, to take pleasure in the smallest things (flies being at the top of the list), to have strength in the face of adversity, and to shed things that no longer served me. Most importantly, she taught me about the integrity and wisdom of the animal kingdom. She showed me that true communion involves humility and a complete reversal of absolutely everything we had been taught about our fellow creatures – Simone had been my baby, but she had also been a true partner and guide.

My relationship with Simone ultimately paved the way for a lifetime of learning from the animals – and for the creation of KitKat Ranch, a non-profit organization dedicated to providing short and long-term care to abandoned and neglected cats and kittens. Many years and many rescues later, Simone continues to guide and remind me, amidst my worries about the various kitties that come to me for care, to always have peace in my heart. She teaches me to be calmly aware of the bigger picture, yet ready to pounce when necessary. She also instructs me in the much needed lesson of balancing cat-care and self-care. Most profoundly, my sweet one-eyed wonder shows me how to see with my heart what I cannot see with my eyes – to live each day as though it might be your last and fearlessly love, love, love. Simone knew she had so much to teach me – and I can see her before me now, looking into my eyes, quietly saying, “Mom, trust in yourself, and if you let me walk next to you, I will help you find your way.” 

About the author:

Stacy Weibley lives in Washington, DC and is the owner of The KitKat Ranch, a feline rescue organization.

For more information about KitKat Ranch, please visit: www.kitkatranch.org.

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