First let me say that this post breaks Rule #1 at the Ceramic Canvas: No personal/non-food related entries.

But today is going to be that rare exception to the rule. It’s been a while since I’ve posted a recipe and I thought I would share with you the reason.

After a few weeks of declining health, this weekend my cat Lapka died at the age of seventeen. I have to admit I was never much of a cat person before but in the thirteen years that she was in my life, she managed to worm her away into my heart.

When I first met Lapka (pronounced Wap-ka. It’s Polish, her birthplace, for ‘little paw’), she was already 3 years-old and we weren’t fast friends. At that time, Jonathan and I had just met and I don’t think she was too happy to share his attention with someone else.

If I sat on the couch next to her, she’d get up and walk away. If I was eating and she whined for a bite, I would taunt her by slowly eating it within her site and not share. Am I proud of this tit-for-tat grudge match that I, a grown man, was having with a cat? No, it wasn’t my most mature moment but as my 7 year-old cousin would say, “She started it!”

But then something happened over the years. We grew close. Instead of walking away when I sat next to her, she would climb on my lap whenever I sat on the couch. And instead of taunting her with table food that she couldn’t have, I would cut up her favorite meal (roasted chicken) into bite sized pieces and feed it to her in my lap.

When she needed comfort, she’d come to me. When she was hungry, she’d come to me. When she wanted to play, she would grab her mouse toy and drop it in front of me for a game of catch. As a matter of fact, I think that Jonathan was secretly jealous of the bound that developed between Lapka and me.

In November 2008 she was diagnosed with kidney failure. We pulled out all of the stops to make sure that she had a great quality of life: special diet, appetite enhancing pills and fluids administered through a needle and bag. I hate needles but I eventually learned how to hook her up to her IV drip.

For awhile it worked. She was normal and happy – you would never know that she was sick or that she had a disease that would ultimately claim her life.

And then about two weeks ago, it all took a dramatic turn for the worse. Lapka stopped eating. She could barely muster the energy to visit her litter box. And for the first time she began crying. It was heartbreaking. All I could do was watch and try to comfort her the best I could.

Vets told me that she was in the final stage of renal failure and that it wouldn’t be long. I thought, “You don’t know her. She is strong, sassy and cranky and she has an unstoppable will to live. She will pull through.”

But they would be right.

Within a week, she became so weak, so miserable that I knew it was selfish to keep her suffering going. So, this Saturday I called the vet for one final house call. I found kitty’s favorite sun spot and laid her down facing me as the vet administered the potion that would put her to sleep.

As she passed away, I picked her up, laid her head on my shoulder so that she could have a view out the window that she loved so much. And as I stroked her and whispered that it was going to be OK, she slipped away into her final sleep. As she stopped breathing in my arms the irony of the situation hit me…when I met her we were arch enemies vying for Jonathan’s attention. In the end, it was just her and me, alone, rocking back and forth in the sunlight, comforting each other in her final moments of life.

It’s been a few days now. And sometimes it still hits me: when I come home and she’s not greeting me at the door (usually yelling for more food), or yesterday, two days after her passing, I finally brought myself to discard her uneaten bowl of food in the kitchen, or as write this now. On these occasions my eyes have filled and overflowed with tears. I know that time heals all wounds and things will get better but it’s still hard for me to realize that she’s gone forever.

At some point I will gather her carrying case, unused foam bed and unopened cat food and donate them to the local shelter but for now I want to hold on to that last piece of her that’s left.

My cranky and completely lovable kitty…Thank you. We miss you. We love you. Sweet dreams, Reggie.