The Balloon

pastel portrait of cat under bed
“Waiting for Mom”, pastel, 16″ x 23″, 1988 © Bernadette E. Kazmarski

For the days prior to the Feast of All Hallowed, Samhain, the Day of the Dead and other celebrations of the dimming of the veil between this world and the next, I am sharing a few stories of visitations, the mysterious returns of my cats after they’d transitioned. None are scary, unless you’re afraid of something that isn’t physically there, but all include elements I can’t explain and only accept…and am glad to have experienced.

torbie cat on rocker
Fawn rolling on her rocker and talking to me, the photo I carried back and forth to work.

One night in early April, 1988, still with patches of snow on the frozen earth, a very small, very pregnant cat politely but confidently asked me if she could come into my home to give birth to her kittens. Of course I said yes, and I witnessed the entrance to this life of four independent and individualistic progeny. The last one born stayed with me after the others were adopted; the “runt of the litter”, the little cat with the big attitude, a torbie, my Fawn.

Ten years later, a friend sent balloons to my workplace for my birthday. The whole bunch was too big to take home, so I took one home and tied it to a lamp in my studio.

My birthday was also, sadly, the day an exam definitively diagnosed that Fawn’s cancer had come out of remission, and the chances of it responding to treatment a second time were slim.

On the morning I had Fawn put to sleep at home, my veterinarian brought her one-year-old daughter, not having day care accommodations that early in the day, and a friend agreed to babysit the little girl down in the studio while my veterinarian and I were upstairs. They untied the balloon from the lamp and played with it all during that time, then let it float freely around the studio. My other cats didn’t respond to the balloon aside from a few swats at the string, and it came to rest in a corner of the room.

balloon and photographs
The balloon over Fawn’s photo

Eight days later, I awoke once again with the daily dread of remembering that my little girl was gone and had not let go very easily, but I didn’t feel the deep sadness which had been with me all that time, especially upon waking. By habit looking over at the jewelry box on top of the chest of drawers where Fawn had spent many sleeping hours during our time in this house, and most of her last few weeks, I noticed the balloon hovering over that spot. Either it had been carried upstairs by one of the other cats or it had made quite a circuitous journey on its own because it was roughly exactly above where it had been hovering on the first floor.

This meant it traveled about ten feet along a wall to the foot of the steps, dipped down a foot to get through the archway, made a u-turn into the stairway and floated up the steps, made a right turn and moved about a foot in that direction while not floating up to the full ten-foot ceiling height so that it could make a jog through my bedroom doorway, turned left and floated about three feet to a spot where there was nothing to hold it in place. Yes, very complicated.

My heart was in my throat, and a little tingle of joy in my heart. I had a sense of what it meant but was not fully awakened to its meaning.

When I came home from work that day the balloon was still in its spot. I replaced the photograph of Fawn, which I had been carrying back and forth to work, on the sewing machine across the room where I kept photos of family and all the cats I’d lost. Instead of the sadness I had felt in that room I felt a capricious and happy spirit; that had been Fawn’s room since the day we had moved here, and my “yittle girl” always waited for me under the bed as in the portrait I’d painted of her, above, when she was just a kitten, pouncing out when she thought I least expected it and prancing around the room, playing hard to get.

torbie cat
Fawn

I returned to the room later that evening to find that the balloon had moved across the room and was hovering over Fawn’s picture with the ribbon touching it, where it stayed, on its own, for two weeks until it was completely out of air, lasting much longer than all the others in the original bunch. None of the other cats ever touched the ribbon or the balloon, though they’d normally at least take a swat.

When Fawn discovered “up” as a kitten, she got “up” on everything as often as possible—narrow shelves on the wall, inside open transoms, on the top edge of an open door, she even had her eye on the ceiling fans. Balancing in place she would call for me to come and see her and gaze down smugly as I praised her, even if she needed my help in getting down.

Fawn was not ready to leave, and I wasn’t ready for her to go. She was only ten years old. For those eight days I felt her unsettled unhappiness and my own grief would not ease. Fawn chose to return to me in a form I would clearly understand, and as a symbol of cheerful celebration, an object which freely floats as high up in its space as it can, and I can only be reassured that the bond we had when she was here carried on to the next existence, that she loved me enough to let me know she had finally accepted and was enjoying the same antics she always had while here. How else would I be sure it was her, silly human that I am?

. . . . . . .

Until just a few years ago when I began blogging, I designed cards in remembrance of my cats, writing a story and sharing images, printing and folding them myself at home, purchasing special envelopes and postage; they were quite a production sometimes. I wrote this story and gathered the images all those years ago, after the encounter with the balloon, and my amazement has not decreased in the least.

I’ll be sharing a few more stories this week as we feel the season.


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All images used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in using one in a print or internet publication. If you are interested in purchasing a print of this image or a product including this image, check my Etsy shop or Fine Art America profile to see if I have it available already. If you don’t find it there, visit Ordering Custom Artwork for more information on a custom greeting card, print or other item.


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Bernadette

From health and welfare to rescue and adoption stories, advocacy and art, The Creative Cat offers both visual and verbal education and entertainment about cats for people who love cats. From catchy and creative headlines to factual articles and fictional stories, The Creative Cat provides constant entertainment and important information to people who love cats, pets and animals of all species.

7 thoughts on “The Balloon

  • Pingback: The Creative Cat - Taking Sally Home

  • October 28, 2013 at 7:47 am
    Permalink

    Thank you, Bernadette, I Love this story.
    Could feel both the dread-filled sadness.. n the reprieve into Joy.
    These are the occasions that confirm our most treasured interpretations of existence.
    Our hope-against-hope that Ever After in the Great Beyond is Truth rather than myth.. certainly, enough to keep our chins up, anyway..

    Reply
  • October 27, 2013 at 5:27 pm
    Permalink

    An amazing story.
    This really confirms my feeling that spirits walk among us ( ones we know)
    and do offer comfort and that feeling we get of not being alone 🙂
    Nancy

    Reply
    • October 27, 2013 at 5:39 pm
      Permalink

      Nancy, I’ll have a story a little later this week that convinces me they are always here, but sometimes the veil is thinner than other times.

      Reply
  • October 27, 2013 at 11:54 am
    Permalink

    What an extraordinary visitation, Bernadette.
    Someday, many many moons from now, you and all your dear cats will resume sharing each other’s energy.

    Reply
    • October 27, 2013 at 4:51 pm
      Permalink

      Meg, I could have explained it all away except for the balloons travels. That’s what convinced me–there is no way that balloon got there under its own powers. Secondarily, all the other cats would not play with it, I guess they recognized what was happening too.

      Reply

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