Conversation with a dead cat.
This is a warning; there is a certain amount of sentiment behind the cut (though not, I hope, sentimentality); if such things horrify you, then you might want to skip this.



Background: in spring 1983, a half-starved and stray black female kitten turned up on the doorstep of the house in Radstock where I lived with my mother. We took her in, fed her and she came to live with us. We named her Dinah (due to a slight brainfart on my mother's part with regard to the names of the cats in 'Through The Looking Glass').

In time, she grew; though never very large; she was possibly part-Burmese or part-Siamese as well as having been a malnourished kitten; but she was healthy, highly intelligent, elegant, talkative and the most affectionate cat I've ever met - she obviously loved us as people, not just meal tickets.

Here she is.

(A particular trick of hers; she would walk up the arm of a chair; perch on the top, purr in your ear and nibble very gently on your earlobe.)

Ten years later, she died; nephritis. Over the course of a week, she became shy and unsociable; I eventually persuaded her in, we took her to the vet, who nodded and said that there was really nothing we could do but wait for the end.

The day before her death, while I was stroking her, I broke down in tears at the knowledge that she was on the way out; and she, who by that time was barely capable of standing, stood up, purred in my face, and nibbled my nose gently; she knew I was upset; and I think she knew why - and she was trying to comfort me.


Five years or so later (1998 sometime); I dreamed of her; an incredibly vivid dream; the sort in which you can picture everything perfectly; not just the way she looked, but how she acted and who she was; her essence if you like; I remember being heartwrenchingly overjoyed in my dream, because I thought I'd never see her again; yet here she was, apparently alive and happy.

Waking the following morning and realising that she was still dead was incredibly painful; the dream was so strong and clear that I could remember everything; and how it made me feel - I still can to this day.


Last night, I dreamed of her again; and the impressions were undimmed with the passing of time; her way of behaving; her soft black fur that looked slightly chocolate brown in strong sunlight; the way she just emitted happiness and how much she enjoyed our company.

I was incredibly pleased to see her again; to enjoy her company - but at the same time I knew this time that she was dead; and that when I woke she would still be dead; and so I was looking at her with a mixture of joy and deep distress - I knew that I was dreaming; and that I was also crying in my sleep.

She looked squarely at me; and I heard a voice in my mind:

"Of course I'm dead. I had a good life; a happy life, and it ended. What you're seeing here is something you constructed; your facsimile of me; and that will remain as long as you remain. Enjoy these meetings; take whatever you can from the memory of our companionship, but get on with your life!"

At which point my mind obviously decided that this was enough, and brought me close enough to awake to be aware of where I was.

I still feel oddly privileged, though, that my memories are solid enough to give me so strong and convincing a picture of my friend Dinah.

Needless to say, however, I've been feeling a little fragile today as a result; but I felt I ought perhaps to share this one.