“Verily we belong to Allah, and verily to Him do we return." 
We were at a dinner party, joking that having a cat would be practice for having kids. Another guest overhead us and spoke up. They had recently rescued a stray who they learned had Feline Immunodeficiency Virus (FIV).
As much as they loved him, they needed to segregate him from their other pets. Would we be open to considering an FIV+ cat? Yes, of course. We went to their house that night to meet him, for consideration.
We worried it would be difficult to find a home in his condition even though he was otherwise adorable and healthy. More than that though, when he immediately crawled in to our laps, he found his way in to our hearts. We left impulsive, but proud, cat parents.
They said he could live with the virus for years, heathy. But as he aged, it would be challenging. If he developed another illness, he may not be able to fight it. We knew that we wanted to care for him and understood the uncertainty. But all life is uncertain and time bound.
He was named in my then in-laws’ tradition, after a famous activist. We chose Lupe Fiasco, one of our favorite hip hop artists, someone who had supported the Occupy movement, and an American Muslim. Over the years, we grew more attached to him than I could imagine.
We doted over him in every way possible but he was always in charge. He owned our homes, left his fur all over our clothes, broke in to sleep in any location he ever wanted, and frequently interrupted efforts to work from home, crawling on to our laptops and keyboards.
Fiasco stayed with me in my divorce. I sometimes told prospects I’d meet, I didn’t have children from my first marriage but did have full custody of our cat.
For an extrovert, living alone is hard. But Fiasco took such good care of me.
For an extrovert, living alone is hard. But Fiasco took such good care of me.
He would greet me when I came home, meowing until I sat down to pet him. He humbled me when I cleaned his messes in all the places he left them. He made sleeping easier when he buried himself in the sheets with me. Sometimes his early morning shenanigans would wake me up to pray.
My favorites were when he would headbutt my forehead, attempt to groom me, and fight me for my ice cream.
He had the most incredible network of aunties. They would visit him, feed him, and clean up after him when I traveled for work. He was loved by them, my parents, my nieces, and seemingly all of the people who read about him over the years.
These last few weeks have been blessed. I have had more time with him than ever before. He’d wake up when he wanted, trounce around my conference calls, and insist on lap time when he so chose.
Just as recently as a few days ago, he broke into the cabinets through a crevice I didn’t even know existed to tear up his snack bags and eat his treats before Fajr.
I know deep down that the only permanence is with Allah. Still, I forget. Fiasco is among my best friends, my roommate, my companion, my family.
When he started to get sick, I worried. I knew he had a pre-existing condition. But the grief and shock when the doctor told me he was terminal, paralleled some of the hardest moments in my life prior.
As he refused to eat, when the steroids did not work, I begged Allah to have mercy on him. I prayed for a cure, even when I thought a cure was impossible.
Because I believe in miracles. I also believe that if my prayers were not answered as asked, that they may be answered with something better for him and me.
Last night, I prayed istikhara, pleading with Allah to guide me to through this life or death decision. I consulted with my family, friends, and the veterinarian. While I had hoped for a few more days, everyone agreed, Fiasco had other needs.
He was doing his best to be his old self even this morning. He was jumping on shelves to investigate things and the counters to play. But he was slowing down, sleeping more, meowing at his food and then walking away from it with his head hung low. Hungry but unable to eat.
Delaying the inevitable might seem to help me but it would hurt him. I could not bear that.
I kept wishing I had found out earlier, but there was mercy in the timing. I found out after having nearly a full month at home with him.
I kept wishing I had found out earlier, but there was mercy in the timing. I found out after having nearly a full month at home with him.
I was fortunately too late to try something drastic and painful and unlikely to succeed, which would cause him more pain. I was also fortunately early enough to be able to see him through with dignity, before he suffered too long from the cancer or starvation.
He cleaned himself. He could barely eat, but his coat looked shiny and soft. He inspired me to dress up to go out with him today. My parents called and cried on video with him, with us.
He was seen off to the veterinarian by half a dozen of his aunties and several of his favorite nieces and nephews. Countless more of you prayed.
Fiasco’s last memory will be of me holding him. Finding the words is hard. Fighting the tears is harder. I take comfort in knowing Allah’s love and mercy are vast. For as much as I adored him, it was a fraction of his closeness to Allah. May we be reunited in the best of places.
