Prima, My Piano, and the Silent Notes: A Farewell to a Special Cat

My cat died suddenly, and I went silent. I couldn't write a single word. Not even speak. Not about her, not about what happened. And not about my heart.

I know people think that when something bad happens, it's good to talk, and maybe that's true, usually true, but you don't always know what to say, or to whom...

I know people think that talking makes you feel better, and that's probably true in many cases, but it doesn't always work, and sometimes silence takes the place of words.

My cat died suddenly, and the surprise itself has its own painful quality, because the human soul needs preparation before things happen – not just bad things, you might be surprised, the human soul also needs preparation when good things happen. That's how we're built; our souls need preparation to cope with intense emotions, extreme events, and the unexpected.

And I'm not young, and the years we live in are years of storms, wars, hostages, casualties, terror victims, and everything else. So how can one tiny, white cat with colorful eyes even fit into all this sorrow that our lives are steeped in?

And what is it that makes us tie our lives to our pet, beautiful or less so, cute or not, barking or not... a domestic animal that becomes part of the family?

When I tell my close ones, or when they notice that my lovely Prima isn't around anymore, the tougher ones among them tell me about a dog they had a decade or two ago, who lived with them for a decade or more, and how the grief was too great. To this day, they remember, sometimes to this day it's too hard to even dare to deal with that grief with a new animal.

And there are those who immediately rush to get a new pet to fill the silence that has entered the walls of the home. That spot on the couch where no one sits, the empty dish, the abandoned balcony.

My Prima was a true beauty, as white as snow, one eye green and the other blue. She came to me from one of the shelters, completely scruffy, and became a beauty in a flash. Very delicate, aristocratic – she looked like she'd stepped right out of a Disney movie....

We called her Prima because her movements were so refined, movements like a prima ballerina. Sometimes it was amusing to see her leg lifted gracefully upwards, as if she were preparing for a performance.

And she had one more very special trait: she was very musical. You might ask, how can a cat be musical...?

Well, every time I sat down at the piano, Prima would abandon everything and come sit next to me. What do I mean by abandon everything? She'd leave the rainbow-colored hammock I bought her, or give up her sunbath on the balcony....

And especially when my chamber music friends arrived – cello, violin, or flute – she would hurry and come sit with us. She had her own chair next to the piano. She'd jump onto it and announce that the concert could begin....

And when I played four-handed, she would jump to sit between me and Cynthia, the other pianist. After strolling a bit on the keys to make her presence known (for anyone who hadn't noticed...), she would settle into her special chair and sit there for a long hour, more accurately two hours... And even when the group dispersed, she would sometimes remain in her chair to continue enjoying the musical moment.

And suddenly, she was gone from our lives. Her voice, her gentle meow, was silenced. She went quiet, and consequently, a bit of the music did too. Like the words, the sounds choked. As if the magic had vanished. And I am incredibly sad.

What is it about our connection with our pets that makes it so delicate and deep? It's a connection without words, or perhaps we could say a pre-verbal connection. If we think about it, each of us, when born, communicates with the world around us without words. This is a time when the connection is powerful, and one could say that each enters the other's heart. This is how it is with our parents, and this is how it is with our children.

There is a part in all of us that communicates without words, and it seems to me this is the communication that touches us in our bond with our pets. They understand us, they listen to us, they comfort us. And there's another very important thing: they accept us with unconditional love, without reckoning, without agendas. Almost everyone longs for that feeling, to be accepted unconditionally.

And they, quietly, silently, enter our hearts.

And here I am telling you this personal story, a small story drowning in a sea of stories, and I hope that by telling it, I can return to talking about other things, things you're waiting to hear about, about ways of coping within the intricacies of the events that build our lives.

My sweet Prima left me, she went to another place. Sometimes I hear a scratching at the balcony door, and I open it, so that... so that maybe she'll come in....

Missing her.