I am not a cat person.
That said, long before her 20th birthday, Zena won me over.
When Greer, our older daughter, was 7, she picked a little calico from a host of kittens at a shelter event in Lafayette. We’ve named our family cats after philosophers, starting with Socrates, then Aristotle — and finally Zena after the philosopher, Zeno. (I changed the “o” in Zeno to an “a” because she was a girl.) Zeno is best known for his work with paradoxes.
Zena, 2005-2025.
Greer is now 27. In the years between, Zena had a long, full life and living up to her name, she became our family’s warrior princess.
After a brief illness, Zena passed away last week. Reflecting on her life and all the ways she has been a part of our lives, this I know: Even though we’ve lost pets before, the hurt that goes with losing a pet can still be shocking. I choose to focus on and celebrate all the beauty she shared with us.
Zena developed many talents over her two decades with our family. For most of her life, using what seemed like a bit of magic and serious acrobatic skill, Zena could jump up and, with her paw, open our front door.
She also was the boss of the place. She manhandled every dog she ever met — including our longtime dog, Hunter, who was six times her size.
But Zena’s greatest talent wouldn’t have landed her on Stupid Pet Tricks. Her real gift was her ability to make people feel seen, loved and adored.
I know this because I was her person. We built a genuine connection, which was quite an accomplishment on her part.
My husband has a different perspective on things. He believes that he was Zena’s person. Greer is equally sure she was. And our younger daughter, Piper, would fight you over this paragraph because she knows she was Zena’s person.
That was the thing about Zena. Somehow, she made each of us feel like we were the one — and we all bought it, hook, line and sinker. I’ve been thinking about how she did that. How did she make each of us feel that way — and what might we learn from the beautiful life she lived?
Reflecting on her life and all the time we spent with her — from kindergarten to college graduations, through moving from one city to another, to countless visits with friends, family and neighbors, here is what I know:
Zena sat beside us.
She invited us to be with her on a daily basis.
She listened.
She was patient.
She was content on her own.
She was a problem solver.
For most of Zena’s life, she was an indoor/outdoor cat. For all of those years, we never had or needed a litter box. On the rare occasion she found herself inside when nature called, Zena taught herself to use one of our bathrooms — no mess, no fuss. She really was an incredible cat.
Zena didn’t ask for much, but she gave a lot. She witnessed more of our family’s history up close and personal than most people ever will — graduations, transitions, big decisions and plenty of ordinary days. Through all of that time, she was a steady, grounding presence.
In her final days, she slowed down, but she never disappeared. She primarily became my husband’s studio cat, but she continued to make her rounds. She still loved to be rubbed between her eyes and to find a warm spot in the sun.
As much-loved pets do, Zena’s presence will stay with us. In her own way, Zena reminds us of what really matters:
Being present means a lot.
You don’t always have to talk to connect.
Loving the people in front of you goes a long way.
