Snowy and death
Snowy passed away today. It wasn't unexpected--the vet said back in January that he probably had less than six months less to live. Last weekend, he stopped eating, and was clearly had trouble walking. When I took him to the vet today, she said what I had feared--his death was imminent, and euthanasia was the most human choice.
I believe in an afterlife, and I believe that animals--at least animals as evolved as cats--go there. One of my main reasons is a story where Snowy was the center. Since I've been recounting it today, I thought I'd offer it here, also.
In 2002, Mrs. Heinlein went into the nursing home. Snowy came out to live with us. He was aloof. This didn't surprise me, he had always been aloof, at least to me. My main contact with him before he came to live with us was things like hurricane evacuations and computer repairs--which I'm sure he regarded as disruptions in his life.
In any case, on the night Mrs. Heinlein passed away, I was up late on my computer. (BTW--as an aside, the cat pictured with Mrs. Heinlein in the above link is Snowy.) At about 4:30 that night/morning, Snowy started yowling. Peabrain yowls randomly--but that was always uncharacteristic for Snowy. For a couple of minutes, he was yelling his head off mournfully. Then he settled down. Sometime around 5:30 or 6 that morning, the nursing home called--Mrs. Heinlein passed away in her sleep. The following evening, Snowy jumped up on my lap. He had barely approached me before then. After then, he was a habitual lap cat.
Somehow, Snowy knew Mrs. Heinlein passed away--and before we did, probably exactly when she passed away. The only explanation that makes sense is that he sensed her soul leaving her body.
My belief in the afterlife presents me with a philosophic quandary. I prefer reason to faith, and I don't like to believe in things I don't understand and/or can't prove. While the episode with Snowy is a compelling anecdote in my mind, I didn't have the presence of mind to even haul out a tape recorder when Snowy was acting up--I have no evidence to prove it happened. (Not that a tape recording of a cat meowing would prove anything metaphysical.) I also have to admit, I also want to believe something of our minds live on after death, beyond what's shown in our works and our progeny--and that desire could color my judgment. At the same time, I don't have a hypothesis of HOW the soul could separate from the body and live on. Nor do I have a great deal of confidence in any particular traditional description of the afterlife. But I don't have a better explanation for what could have set him off. A "psychic bond" is just as tenuous as an "immortal soul"--that explanation also has scant proof and involves the mind reaching beyond the body; in the sense that both involve the cat sensing her soul, it's essentially the same explanation. Could he have heard something, or could something have set off that magnetic sense cats are supposed to have? Atlantic Beach is more than 30 miles away, with the city of Jacksonville in between--I'd think that would drown out any sensory information.
In any event, today was Snowy's turn to find out the real story about the afterlife. Believing that something of him lives on out there somehow, doesn't make his death any easier. Rest in peace, Snow Cat.
I believe in an afterlife, and I believe that animals--at least animals as evolved as cats--go there. One of my main reasons is a story where Snowy was the center. Since I've been recounting it today, I thought I'd offer it here, also.
In 2002, Mrs. Heinlein went into the nursing home. Snowy came out to live with us. He was aloof. This didn't surprise me, he had always been aloof, at least to me. My main contact with him before he came to live with us was things like hurricane evacuations and computer repairs--which I'm sure he regarded as disruptions in his life.
In any case, on the night Mrs. Heinlein passed away, I was up late on my computer. (BTW--as an aside, the cat pictured with Mrs. Heinlein in the above link is Snowy.) At about 4:30 that night/morning, Snowy started yowling. Peabrain yowls randomly--but that was always uncharacteristic for Snowy. For a couple of minutes, he was yelling his head off mournfully. Then he settled down. Sometime around 5:30 or 6 that morning, the nursing home called--Mrs. Heinlein passed away in her sleep. The following evening, Snowy jumped up on my lap. He had barely approached me before then. After then, he was a habitual lap cat.
Somehow, Snowy knew Mrs. Heinlein passed away--and before we did, probably exactly when she passed away. The only explanation that makes sense is that he sensed her soul leaving her body.
My belief in the afterlife presents me with a philosophic quandary. I prefer reason to faith, and I don't like to believe in things I don't understand and/or can't prove. While the episode with Snowy is a compelling anecdote in my mind, I didn't have the presence of mind to even haul out a tape recorder when Snowy was acting up--I have no evidence to prove it happened. (Not that a tape recording of a cat meowing would prove anything metaphysical.) I also have to admit, I also want to believe something of our minds live on after death, beyond what's shown in our works and our progeny--and that desire could color my judgment. At the same time, I don't have a hypothesis of HOW the soul could separate from the body and live on. Nor do I have a great deal of confidence in any particular traditional description of the afterlife. But I don't have a better explanation for what could have set him off. A "psychic bond" is just as tenuous as an "immortal soul"--that explanation also has scant proof and involves the mind reaching beyond the body; in the sense that both involve the cat sensing her soul, it's essentially the same explanation. Could he have heard something, or could something have set off that magnetic sense cats are supposed to have? Atlantic Beach is more than 30 miles away, with the city of Jacksonville in between--I'd think that would drown out any sensory information.
In any event, today was Snowy's turn to find out the real story about the afterlife. Believing that something of him lives on out there somehow, doesn't make his death any easier. Rest in peace, Snow Cat.
Labels: CAT, LIFE, Philosophy
posted by John at 6/24/2008 03:24:00 AM
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