My Sweet Quila Crossed the Rainbow Bridge and Gave Me a Golden Kitten at the End

Nine years ago, I went to get dog food after a couple of margaritas. There were kittens for adoption out front, and I thought,

The sweet calico, five months old, reached through her cage, caught my sleeve, and pulled me to her. What do you think I did?

I took her home, of course, and named her Quila, short for tequila. The dogs weren’t amused, but eventually everyone got along.

She was the sweetest cat I’ve owned, or who has owned me. When I saw therapy clients in my home, Quila would greet them at the door and walk them to the couch. She would then wait until they became anxious, or started crying, and she would drape herself over their knees to calm them down.

When the session ended, she escorted them back to the door. I believe she was sad when the pandemic came and I saw clients virtually.

She was only eight years old when she developed feline asthma. I’d never heard of it.

We moved six months ago to the high desert, which I hoped would help her breathe better. Maybe for a time it did. I gave her twice daily inhaler treatments, which she first hid from, but learned to tolerate, as long as I petted her during, telling her how much I love her and what a sweet girl she was.

In recent weeks, her breathing became even faster, 88 short breaths a minute. Of course I didn’t learn that until I took her back to the veterinarian.

This was her fourth visit in 10 months. None of the first three doctors knew why her asthma was so bad and why there was fluid around her lungs. We tried several things, finally settling on the inhaler twice a day. I added albuterol on my own for when she had asthma attacks, and thought she was improving.

This vet was as confused as the first three. But she was also the most honest and understanding. She expressed that she thought it might be time to say goodbye. I was ready, but I asked if there was anything else we could try first.

She said we could try a strong steroid shot that would last three to four weeks, and an oral, liquid antibiotic expressly for lung issues. No one had suggested that before. They had given her broad spectrum antibiotic shots that seemed to briefly help. She was the only vet who told me that the liquid was the correct one to use for lung infections.

I assured the vet again that I was prepared, and if Quila didn’t show signs of improvement soon, I would bring her back to say goodbye.

I didn’t get that chance.

I gave her a gabapentin that evening, in hopes it would relax her so she could breathe better. It only made her loopy and out-of-it. She continued that way all the next day.

Her breathing didn’t slow down. I left a message for the veterinarian, asking if the shot should have helped in the first 24 hours. I cuddled her, then went out with a visiting friend for three hours.

I couldn’t find her in any of her hiding places when I returned home. My other kitty, Trixie Minx, and I sat together on the couch for an hour or so while I read. I assumed Quila was upstairs and would come out when I went to bed, as she always did.

Since I wasn’t sure how capable she was of descending the stairs to her food and litter box, I put food and water upstairs, and went to carry her litter box up as well. When I attempted to lift it, the lid came off, and there she was, alive but lying on her side in the litter box.

I carried her to the stairs, but she was so weak and in pain, I laid her down on the tiles. I put a pillow down beside her and petted and talked to her until she died.

Sadness and indecision over what to do with her body mixed together to make me dunderheaded. I called a friend, who told me to wrap her up and put her in a box, and that the Animal Shelter would cremate her the next day. I wrapped her in one of my son’s old baby blankets. It felt right, as she was my baby girl for nine years.

The next day I drove to the Animal Shelter, set in the mountains, yellow chamisa, sage, aspens, and open, rolling fields of New Mexico. It was the perfect spot for her ashes, and they promised to make a paw print for me. In Mexican tradition, they also had an Ofrenda, a place to honor the dead on Day of The Dead. I had her photo placed there with the departed pets.

Photo by author. View from the Santa Fe Animal Shelter

I was crying through all of the paperwork, and arranging for her photo to be displayed. After they took her back, still crying, I mentioned that I might go over to their adoption center in a separate building to look at kittens. Not that I planned to get one yet, I just thought it might comfort me to cuddle a few.

Michael, a guy behind the desk, and an angel disguised as a teddy bear of a man, with a graying beard and kind, blue eyes, looked up, looked at me with excited eyes, and asked,

“Would you like to see a face that will make you smile?”

I didn’t feel like smiling, but I thought,

“What can it hurt to look?”

He guided me to a room behind the office, and opened the cage of a golden fluff ball of a five-month-old kitten. The same age Quila was when she insisted I take her home with me.

This one rolled around on her back, inviting me to rub her tummy. I picked her up and she snuggled her face into my neck.

Photo of Ginger by author after adopting her and taking her home,

I promise there was no tequila involved this time. Could you have refused this face?

They told me Bissell, the vacuum company, was sponsoring adoptions this month, so she was half-price. Great marketing on Bissell’s part, especially for this kitten, as I would now need a good vacuum cleaner to keep up with the shedding a long-haired cat does.

The young girl doing the official adoption leaned over and quietly said,

“I saw your birthdate and I’m going to give her to you for $50.”

Who knew there were senior discounts for rescuing a kitten?

The golden kitten hadn’t even been fully processed to be taken over to the adoption center. If I had been even an hour or so later, she would have been in with all the kittens and cats, and I might have missed her. As it was, there was only her and two others in the room behind the counter.

I might have even changed my mind about visiting the adoption center if Michael had simply let me leave. As it is, I now have Ginger Maxine, a queen in every way. Trixie Minx is adjusting fairly well, although I’m sure she’s confused.

So many things had to come together for me to find Ginger. I could have followed the vet’s best advice two days before and never gone to the Animal Shelter. My friend researched where to take Quila after she died, and found the Animal Shelter option. Michael, who wanted Ginger himself, but has two dogs, a horse and a rabbit and lives in an RV, could have let me leave without taking me to her.

Do I think Quila led me to Ginger? I do. All living things have an energy that is more than their bodies. Quila used hers to bring Ginger into my life.

The cat distribution system, with the help of an earthly angel named Michael, did its job. I found gold at the end of the Rainbow Bridge.

Dedicated to Toni Crowe, another crazy cat lady and my friend, and to Michael of Santa Fe Animal Shelter. Who hugged me more than once during the process.