My Girl

Revised Workshop Piece

By Elle Noecker

Growing up and moving on at the same time…

Ellie

They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment you knock upon death’s door. How beautiful it is to think that you get to relive your entire existence right before it comes to an end? I imagine my body shutting down for good while my mind thinks it all just begun. Machines beeping to the rhythm of my ever slowing heart rate in a hospital room perfumed with sterilizers and sadness.  

But my mind will be elsewhere and I’ll believe it’s telling me the truth. We will be reunited. Lying below the Christmas tree while laughter rings like jingle bells and the only beeping I’ll hear is from the oven signaling warm cookies are ready to be eaten by the fire with a glass of milk and my soul girl at my side.  

God, I pray she sees the same.  

Tigerlilly

Every day of my life so far has been the same. A cycle of struggling against my much larger siblings for food, feeling the briskly conditioned air bite at my ears and nose, and then curling up against metal bars as I fall asleep, tiny belly empty.  

Please take me home.

Ellie

Reality is an ugly thing. Its walls close in around me until my lungs are compressed so hard that I am unable to produce sound and my sobs fall silent. I just had to hang up the phone on mom. My final goodbye being through a cellphone screen was never how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to be there at her side. And it wouldn’t be any time soon, it would be years from now when I’d have graduated college and her fur would be the color of the snow that covered the ground the day we met.

But mom and dad just dropped me off last week and her coat is still vibrant. I know I had to leave but it’s too soon for her to do the same.  

My chest aches and my eyes are flooded. I whisper into the air the only words that make any sort of sense right now:

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

Tigerlilly

I hear the phrase repeated three times as a new set of hands reaches down to lift me. I’ve been in a box for a little while now, it’s dark. But I have been curled up on a warm blanket drifting in and out of sleep. I don’t know where I am. But I know this isn’t the shelter. Wherever I am, it no longer smells of ammonia, litter, and the kibble I never got to eat. Instead the air is permeated in pine, peppermint, and particularly enticing paper. And as this small human picks me up, I recognize the scent of the blanket on her hands. I put the pieces together. The blanket in my box belongs to this child, a young girl in pink pajamas who I estimate to be five years of age. Human years are unfamiliar to me, but I know this child. I am not sure how, I have never seen her before. But her tender embrace assures me that we are family. I jolt as the girl clutches me so tight to her chest that I am no longer comfortable in her narrow boney arms. But I don’t mind. When she finally sets me down on the carpet I eagerly explore my new home.  

I have food with no competition for the first time ever, a clean litter box, piles of toys but I’d rather play with the shredded paper scattered all over the living room floor. In the corner rests a plush pink bed.  

After the first day of the rest of my life comes to a close, the little girl called Ellie and I fall asleep in the living room under the massive pine tree. I press my small body against hers as my soft purrs coax us into deep dreams, though both of ours just came true. There is a feeling in my heart that fills my skinny abdomen. It is warm and calm. I haven’t been to many places, but this feeling tells me there is nowhere I would rather be.  

Ellie  

I never claimed to be a good actor. I don’t hide my emotions well. But I can’t have anyone read my face because I know they’ll ask what’s wrong, and I’ll be left with two options: cry or lie. And when I choose the latter, I’ll still end up bawling and the person who checked on me will feel obligated to try to comfort me, and though I’ll appreciate their good intentions, I know we will both be wishing they never asked in the first place. It’ll be an awkward mess. And the other part is– they’ll never get it. No one will understand the profound loss I have just been faced with. The way a piece of me has just been ripped from my heart by the violent claws of death. I’ll bleed out until I’m empty and then some. Nothing can repair this wound. Not a “so sorry” or a “here for you.” Not a phone call or distraction. And definitely not a hug from my new roommate I barely know.  

Hot tears slide down my cheeks and dramatically splat onto the paper below me. It’s the second week of class and supposed to be the start of the best years of my life. And those best years are nowhere in sight at the moment. And they won’t be ever. Because how can I live my best years without her? Who even am I without her?  

Tigerlilly

I have learned that Christmas comes once every year. I am a Christmas kitty. Ellie calls me a “Christmas miracle.” I was too young to remember exactly how I got home, but according to Ellie I was brought down the chimney by a large man in a red suit named Santa. Though I can’t recall this day, I know that Santa is my hero because he brought me to my family. Christmas is my favorite time of year. But I have also come to love birthdays. Birthdays come more often, five times a year to be exact– one for each member of my family. Birthdays are second best to Christmas because they also involve wrapping paper. And I love wrapping paper. When I was a kitten, my favorite game was when Ellie would crumple up a small piece like a ball and throw it for me to chase down the hallway. My paws would slide on the shiny floors as I would bat the paper ball around and show it who’s boss. But now, I just like to lay on it. I’d choose wrapping paper over my bed any day.  

Ellie

Everyone tells me she’s in a better place and I know. I know. I know. But it’s not enough to ease the ache. I write my poem and send it to mom. It makes her cry. If anyone understands, it’s her. She copes by keeping it in. Being strong for me. But I know she needs her too. And I’m not home. So the house is twice as empty.  

Tigerlilly

Ellie tries to get me to play. She waves a small mouse toy by the tail, swaying it in front of my eyes like a clock. When I don’t budge, she finds a piece of ribbon on the floor from her birthday last week and slowly drags it across my paw as if I’ll decide to swipe at it. But why would I move my body when I can just stay here on the old red couch? I spent what energy I had left today making my way up the steps Mom put out for me when I stopped being able to jump up on my own. She tries countless methods but I won’t give in. Not even the scent of catnip Ellie waves in front of my nose is enough to get me off the cushion. Or the leftover wrapping paper ball that she tosses up and down.  

When I still won’t stir, she looks disappointed but unsurprised. With a sigh, she climbs up beside me on the couch and we both start to doze off from the vibrations of my relentless purr. She just turned fifteen. And though I don’t really know what that means, I do know her hands that gently stroke my head are much bigger now than they were when she first picked me up all that time ago.  

This is my idea of a good time. No catnip could ever beat a cat-nap on the couch with my girl. I curl up on the wrapping paper she left out just for me.  

I think sometimes Ellie worries about me because I just don’t like to move. But I don’t want her to worry. I have food, paper to lay on, and a family that loves me. I couldn’t be happier.  

Ellie  

I’m in bed, wide awake at hours I don’t even want to know, tossing and turning until I decide sleep isn’t in the picture and I flip my lamp light on. My custom pillow with her photo on it resting beneath my head is still damp from the tears I shed over the past two hours. I sit up and position myself to lean against it. She still finds a way to be my support system, even in pillow form. The thought almost makes me smile.

I grab my phone off my bedside table. When I can’t escape my own head, music can take me away. Popping in my earbuds, I open Spotify and shuffle my “Calm” playlist to try and ease the queasy feeling in my gut that hasn’t left since she did. But when the first song to start playing is “chemtrails” by Lizzy McAlpine I knew I had made a grave mistake. My calming playlist is coincidently composed of mostly sad songs. Anything with a slow melody and acoustic production. And of the course the first song to make its way to my ears is a story about the loss of a family member and the struggle to continue on the path of life without them. I’ve read in the past that Mcalpine wrote the song about her dad passing away. The person in her life who taught her to ride a bike, read her bedtime stories and held her close when she cried.  

And here I am, choking on my own sobs over a cat.  

Tigerlilly

Ellie just graduated high school. I can tell because she prances through the front door in a beautiful white dress, a red rose in her hand. The house is decorated with photos of her and I watch through the window as people start filing in the backyard for a large celebratory dinner on the patio. Apparently there’s a cake, because mom came inside to find me with frosting on her finger tip. I perk up from my nap to lick her hand clean. Giggling at the sensation of my scratchy tongue (it gets them everytime) she says something softly about how bigger kitties like me really shouldn’t be eating cake frosting, but “life is short.” And I’m starting to think she might be right.  

Later that evening, mom starts bringing inside leftover food and decorations as people start to leave our house. She carries in a large cardboard poster and leans it against the living room wall. Despite the ache in my joints that creak when I walk, my curiosity takes over as I manage to stand up and cross the room to get a closer examination. I find that the piece of cardboard is completely covered in photos of Ellie throughout her life. A photo of her as a baby from a time when I wasn’t around yet. A recent photo of her with her friends in fancy flowing dresses. An older photo where she smiles ear to ear, holding a fistful of swimming medals she won. Eventually, my eyes land on a particular photo that takes me back to a time where my memory is almost as fuzzy as the little runt in the picture. A miniature version of Ellie stands in front of a Christmas tree in her pink pajamas, cradling a miniature version of me. I start to smell the pine, peppermint, and that particularly enticing paper. My vague but fond memories begin to form in my mind like a dream. Pressing my large body against the cardboard to be as close to these moments in time as possible, I curl up and drift off.  

~~~

Through my years, I have learned the signs when my family is about to leave for a trip. They always come back, but I can tell this trip is going to be longer than usual. I know this because packing usually takes about a day. But throughout the past three weeks, bins have continued to pile up containing only things that belong to Ellie. I’m not sure what it implies, but I can feel her excited energy radiating every time she talks to mom about her new roommates and classes and future. But I know she gets sad too. Because every time she comes to find me on the couch, she holds me a little tighter than the time before. In the past I might have growled expressing my discomfort. But I can tell she needs me close, and I don’t resist because I need her just the same.  

Ellie  

I’m not one for dramatic Instagram posts. I’m never looking for any sort of attention or pity. That’s the last thing I want right now. But I need people to know. My childhood friends. My extended family. My former classmates. The first thing all of them ever knew about me was that I have an overweight cat nicknamed “Wiss” who is my entire world and the center of my existence. Wiss is an icon to anyone who knows me and it would be disrespectful not to give her the memorial she deserves. I’ve spent the past two hours in bed curled up underneath my custom blanket with photos of her (yes, I have a blanket and a pillow) scrolling through hundreds of photos of my girl. I make a collection of the ones that best capture her personality. Judgmental. Funny. Loving. Goofy. Smart. Not-so-smart. And everything in between that made her who she was. I manage to narrow it down to twenty (the max amount possible by Instagram) and upload them with a caption:  

“My Wissy,

The day you arrived as a tiny, wide eyed, Christmas miracle the idea of losing you absolutely terrified me, and I never imagined that day would come so soon. To the funniest, most family loving, big in heart and size, best kitty in the whole world— thank you for being my best friend, my comfort, my rock. Thank you for making us laugh every day and being the center of our family. The biggest blessing of my childhood. Anyone who’s met you knows how special you truly are. And though our house will never be the same without you, I feel so relieved knowing that you are at peace and comfort. I love and miss you forever and ever, Chunk. You are an absolute legend.

Tigerlilly “Wiss”:10/4/11-8/19/24 🕊️🌈💕”

Tigerlilly

I haven’t been feeling well and mom notices. I know it hurts her that I haven’t been eating. I know her heart sinks every time I refuse the water she holds in a bowl under my white chin.  

I sense that Ellie leaves tomorrow. She spends most of her day by my side. I haven’t gotten up since last night and as evening nears I can tell she senses I’m not well. But my girl has always been an optimist. Mom says she’ll take me to the vet as soon as she’s back from moving Ellie into college. Whether it’s frosting I shouldn’t have or a vet visit, mom always knows as well as I do, exactly what I need.  

It’s morning now but still so early that only dim moonlight shows through the curtains. Ellie hauls a final suitcase down the stairs, tosses it to the side and lays down on the floor in front of me. Keeping my head down, I slowly open my eyes as water wells in hers.  

Wrapping her arms around my body she leans in close and says “don’t worry. I’ll see you in three months when I come to visit.” For the first time in my life, I’m glad I can’t speak because I don’t have the courage to tell her that won’t be true. It’s her time to grow up and move on, so I know it shall be mine.

Kissing my velvet forehead one last time, she whispers the words “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

Ellie (2 years later)

The first time I came home from college to visit for Thanksgiving was a little jarring. As I hauled my luggage up to the front steps, I noticed a new doormat that certainly was not there when I left three months ago. My feet stepped over the words “must love dogs” and I let out a laugh, joking with my mom that our family pulled a full one-eighty from the old welcome sign that read “Be careful: My cat is judging you.”

For the past twelve years of my life, my instinct when I walked through the front door was to beeline for Wiss, who would be lying next to the graduation party photo collage with paws placed on the pictures. But this time, I am greeted by a clumsy little red merle Australian Shepherd puppy who joined the family in October, about one month after we said “goodbye” to Wiss. I had a feeling mom wouldn’t last very long without a furry companion.  

I squat down to meet the new member of the family who licks my cheek with a tongue that certainly belongs to a dog. My family named him “Red,” and my love for him was immediately undeniable. But it didn’t compensate for the emptiness in my heart.

~~

That first Christmas with Red was harder to grapple with than I’d like to admit. It wasn’t the puppy himself, but the lack of my girl. Wiss had defined Christmas for me since I was five-years old. She was the reason I believed in miracles.  

I watched the chaotic morning unfold in our living room while a wild Red shredded apart pieces of wrapping paper (“Baby shark” quickly became his nickname) while mom struggled to hold on to his leash. Humorous as it was, there were a few moments where I had to look away to fight the stinging in my throat and tears in my eyes. Memories flooded into my mind from over a decade of calm Christmases with a cat who saw wrapping paper as the perfect surface for a nap, purring under the tree. This just wasn’t the same.  

~~~

I have now finished my second year of college and sit in my childhood bedroom where my custom Wiss pillow watches from my bed as I write her story. Her wide-eyes that never lost their kitten-like youth remind me that she never really left. Her ashes sit in a container on the shelf in the living room, next to her painted portrait.

  I don’t think I will ever know what to do without her. But I do know that I experienced a type of love that is immeasurable and irreplaceable. And though I can’t speak for her, I think my girl would agree.

❤

The Wiss Gallery: