Self-Realization and Other Awakenings

Satchi was the most remarkable cat I ever knew. A
small, tortoise shell, Exotic Shorthair with the fiercest
look on her face due to an under bite exposing her
lower fangs that scared the hell out of our other six
cats.
Satchi ruled the house. If any two cats had an
argument, within seconds Satchi was there, standing
directly between them, challenging either to move,
telling them there was no discord in her house. She
dominated me with her love, daily mounting my lap,
sitting on her throne of absolute rulership.
During the middle of 1997 she began showing the
usual signs of kidney failure, a disease process
confirmed by our vet, which caused weight loss,
diminished appetite, and excessive thirst.
Having just lost Robert, I was determined that I
was going to save Satchi no matter what. I had sort of
a magical belief that reality was sort of fluid and could
be changed purely by love and intentionality. My love
for her grew in proportion to the care and attention I
gave her.
Yet she grew weaker by the day. During her last
two months, Kerima and I would take walks with her
every evening. She would walk between us or a little
behind as we walked around the block, stopping
frequently to smell the grass, plants and trees.