Zelda was her name. She was affectionate; her charcoal and silver fur still soft and beautiful, though stretched over a thin, frail frame.
Monday night, my wife Barbara and I went over for the twice-daily check of our neighbor's condo, to play a bit with, and feed and replenish water, for Zelda and her companion feline. But when called, Zelda didn't come. As silence continued to our calls, a frantic search began.
Finally, we found her, unmoving, stuck between some fallen objects in a bookcase. The poor creature was barely conscious, and drenched in its own urine . . . but breathing. Rushed to the vet's office, she seemed to recover a bit, groggy but responsive.
The vet said Zelda has suffered seizures, but appeared to be coming out of it. Watch her through the night, she said, and bring her back in the morning. Nothing more to be done until then, just keep her comfortable, she said.
And so we did. Zelda got a sponge bath and was cuddled through the evening. But as night fell, she became more lethargic. Her legs stiffened in another seizure.
Barbara wept. I had some tears, too. No one wants to see an animal suffer, and especially one that depends on human companionship for comfort in times of fear. So, bundled in towels to keep her comfortable and warm, I took Zelda gently from Barbara's arms, and into my own.
Lit candles, burned some incense. Before my icon corner, prayed for mercy for this creation of the God we each, in our own way, worshipped.
The old cat relaxed and slept, occasionally moving its legs from time to time, its tail slowly swaying to some unheard music as we settled her into her bed, next to our own.
Our two small dogs sniffed her, then settled in a short but respectful distance away, as if on guard against the night.
Every now and then, through the night, a flashlight beam revealed Zelda fast asleep. But at dawn, she was still. She was gone.
Mercy had come in the moments before sunrise.
Barbara broke the sad news by video chat with Zelda's "companion human," still overseas. She was sad, but grateful.
As for Zelda, and all those beloved pets we share love and wonder with for too brief a time, why not "heaven"?
Orthodox Christian thought does not rule it out for these icons of "unfallen nature." They share with us the "breath of life," and also have souls specific to their intended created natures.
Animals are not just part of the planet's furniture, but special, unique expressions of the Ultimate Love that bursts forth in life, beauty and joy from the void.
I had felt a kinship, the fallen man with the innocent creature, as I held Zelda for those moments, both of us in the presence of Our Creator.
Orthodox Christians seem to have a prayer for all of life's moments, those of joy and sadness alike. And I found one for Zelda, and for all those animals we love, and are loved by, during our sojourn in this mortal dimension:
Prayer at the death of companion animals
Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us. Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.
O God of all spirits and of every flesh, everything that has breath praises you both in this world and the next. Heaven is full of the sounds of creaturely voices in a great cacophony of praise and thanksgiving. Day and night your creatures praise you, without ceasing and with joy.
In your all-encompassing mercy, O God, we now commit the life of this our beloved friend and companion to eternal fellowship with you. Create within us a spirit of gratitude for the life of (name). Give rest, O God, to (name) who lived among us and gave us freely of (his/her) love.
Holy Father, your Son Jesus Christ taught us that not one sparrow is forgotten in your sight. We ask therefore for you to provide a place of green pasture where (his/her) praises will be heard in your presence and where (he/she) shall be free from suffering and pain.
God our Creator, hear our prayer and let our praise unite with those in heaven into one long song of eternal thanksgiving:
Glory to You, O Christ our God, the source and destiny of all living things. Glory to You, O Christ our God, Who bears the wounds of all suffering creatures. Glory to You, O Christ our God, Who transforms all suffering into joy.
St. John saw the new heaven and earth; a place without pain, sorrow or crying; for the same God who creates, is the same God who reconciles and redeems all creation.
Glory to You, O Christ our God and Saviour of the Universe: in Christ shall all be made alive.
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