On Reflection

I will always consider today as the day I stepped into the alternate universe that was the year 2020.

One year ago, today, as the world was just beginning to grieve the tragic loss of Kobe Bryant, his daughter, and seven other precious lives, I was trying to figure out what to do with a dead cat.

Let me explain.

On January 1st, 2020, after the ceremonial ball dropped and we all so foolishly welcomed in the new year, my sister and her boyfriend took a cute little trip to Europe. They visited his parents in London and had their own, freezing cold, European tour. (Emily in Paris could never)

While they were away, she asked me — her devoted, loving, and most responsible sister — to watch their house and to care for their plants and their two cats, Otis and Lili.

I, of course, accepted wholeheartedly, not only because I am a devoted, loving and responsible sister, but also because I live in a studio apartment and she lives in a 3-bedroom house with a king-size bed and every streaming service imaginable. Think Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone — but without the burglars.

Most nights I slept there. My commute to work was much shorter, plus I didn’t want to leave the cats alone for too long. But every few days, I’d spend the night at my apartment. My plants need love to you know!

And honestly, I think the cats were happy to have a break from my daily routine of scream-singing in the shower and sock-sliding in and out of every room. It’s hard to sock-slide in a studio apartment. I really had to get it in, you know?

I must have sensed that the cats needed a break from attending the one woman act that is ‘The Katy Show’, so that night, January 26th, I decided to spend the night at home.

I packed a few things, took a walk around the house, fed the cats, and gave them each a hug and a kiss on the head. Then I locked up, set the alarm and I was off. Before I drove away, I remember looking at the front window and seeing them living their best lives, soaking up the warm afternoon sun. I remember thinking ‘ugh I hate to leave them, but I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight’. I remember looking at them and saying, “Bye babies, I’ll see you tomorrow.” out loud, to no one. And then I drove home.

The next morning, I was up and out the door by 10:30, rushing to get back by 11 so I could sign for a chair that was to be delivered. I stumbled in, trying to balance way too many things in my hands and knew quickly that something was wrong. Lili was right there begging for food, but Otis was not. And as soon as I found him, I knew.

Not once in the entire 30 years of my silly little life, have I ever found myself in the presence of a dead pet.

My parents were the type to get pets — dogs specifically — only to give them away a few years later after they realized that no one — other than themselves — were going to clean up their poop or feed them or take them for a walk, even though my sister and I promised that we would.

I mean what is a promise from a 10-year-old really? It’s a lie. A promise from a 10-year-old child is a lie, I’m sorry to tell you. A tactic used to appease their parents in the present moment in order to get what they want, of course.

They don’t understand what a promise means, yet. They don’t realize that there are consequences for the promises they make. Or of something called ‘follow through’. They just want something to cuddle and play with when they get bored of each other. And will say anything, at the moment, to get it.

And so, I grew up with temporary pets which caused emotional trauma for sure (thanks mom), but also saved me from the heartbreak of having to grieve a pet that had died, at such a young age. (hey, thanks mom) As far as I knew, they were still alive and happy, just living with a different family, who had more time and apparently, more well-behaved, responsible children, who followed through with their promises. Must be nice.

Though I had never experienced the death of a pet before, I have, of course, seen dead animals, which is never pleasant. However, I’d never seen one that I’d spent so much time with. Never one who I had cared for. Never one I had regularly reenacted the scene to Lion King with, and who I would constantly smother in hugs and kisses. Never a pet.

Because I am the way I am the first thing I did was lose all sense of rational thinking. I called my mom, then my dad, then my friend and asked her to come over immediately. And by asked, I mean demanded — all I remember saying was “I need you here now.”

During all of the madness, the chair was delivered, and I somehow managed to pull it together long enough to sign for it. Thinking back, I can’t even imagine what I looked like, considering the state I was in. I’m sure the delivery driver couldn’t leave fast enough.

All that was going through my head was that I had to tell my sister, who was already extremely homesick, miserably cold, and thousands of miles away, that her cat had died. Her cat, who she had for 8 years, in and out of 4 cities and 6 apartments. The cat who she had asked me to send videos of, just a few days earlier, so she could make sure he wasn’t missing her too much. The first pet she had ever had.

I was terrified, devastated, and overwhelmed, to say the least. If my friend didn’t come through that day, I’d probably still be standing there frozen in fear, trying to figure out what to do first. But she did and I am forever grateful.

I hadn’t thought about that day in a while. Until yesterday when my sister reminded me that today would be the anniversary of Otis’s death. And then it all came flooding back. The shock, the sadness, the helplessness; the utter ridiculousness of it all. I’m housesitting for the first time in my life and the cat dies. Come on.

I remember thinking that this was probably the saddest I’d feel all year. At least I had hoped it would be. Obviously, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’d only end up becoming even more familiar with those painful feelings over the next 12 months. Shock, sadness, helplessness, terror. We all would. Some more often — some more intensely — than others.

When I began writing this piece, I was hoping for a sense of closure. A sort of cathartic experience. A ‘letting go’ of the past unbelievable 365 days. Many of which were filled with confusion and anxiety, sadness and terror.

Instead, I find myself reflecting on the incredible strength we’ve acquired this past year, as individuals and as a collective whole. Reflecting on all the impossible things we thought we could not do, yet somehow found a way. Reflecting on our ability to overcome; On our unimaginable resilience.

To say this has been a difficult year for everyone would be a gross understatement. It has been brutal. Unbearable at times. To say that we are all better for it, would likely be a lie. Some, I’m sure, feel much worse off.

But regardless of how you feel about where you find yourself today or how far you’ve managed to come, even if it was only 10 feet into the other room, you have come this far. And you — we all — are stronger for it.