Sometimes an unexpectedly deep connection happens with an animal, one of the wonders of God's creation. That happened with Teddi Bear almost instantly after I met her. She was patient when I was immature during her kitten years and remained so through my impatience over the decades. She was tender, playful, and always had her "meowing" conversations with me.
She graced guests, friends, and even casting directors with her attention and affection. She made everyone feel like they were special. She went to the beach and hung out at cafes. Even into her 17th year on planet Earth, she would sit and roll over on command. She accompanied me as I set up my classroom and traveled joyfully with me from LA to Burlingame and back.
A Different Kind of Connection
I have had many pets through the years. I grew up with German Shepherds, and as fond as I was of them, I never really missed them once they were gone. Later, I had Shadow and Smokey, and while I grieved them, the connections were brief or complicated.
But Teddi was different. I adopted her on Labor Day, specifically looking for a gray kitten. Little did I know that my initial fondness for her unique personality would lead me to a place where I simply loved her "too much." Even when I adopted Emma later—a mercy adoption for a black kitten who had been abused—the bond I enjoyed most was watching the two of them spar and groom one another.
I tell you this to illustrate how unbelievably unique Teddi was. I embarrassingly once told a friend that I dreaded the possibility of a cat living 24 years, yet when she turned 17, I realized every day was a gift. Perhaps my earlier "dread" was just a defense against the knowledge that she could leave sooner than I thought. Denial is a great antidote to the pain that eventually comes.
The Star of the Room
Teddi was confident in her own skin. She would wear plastic skirts she managed to get into, walk with me on the beach leashless, and sit comfortably in moving cars.
When she was three, I was in acting school in LA and had to move to an apartment that didn't allow cats. A renter took care of her for a month. When I returned, he told me, "I have a proposition for you... I want to buy Teddi for $3,000." I told him she simply wasn't for sale.
When she was five, she accompanied me to a Petco commercial callback. As the six casting directors sat in an "L" shape, I had Teddi sit and roll over. Then, I let her off her leash. She literally jumped onto the first casting director's lap, schmoozed for a few seconds, and moved to the next. By the time she hit the sixth lap, they were all wowed. They said, "We don’t want you—we want her!"
Even as recently as 2021, a renter asked if he could clone her. She was a smooth operator—the more people at a party, the better. She met everyone with a quiet graciousness and poise that made her irresistible.
The Last Journey
The last time she accompanied me while I worked out at home still tugs at my heart. She was already struggling to eat and was hiding in the closet, but she came out just to be near me. That was when I noticed her infection had returned. I knew it meant another emergency vet visit. I told her through the stress, "I can’t keep spending this kind of money," but of course, I took her.
Her immune system was weakening. Scarcely three weeks later, she was gone. Her last week, I knew it was serious. I bawled uncontrollably. The ultrasound confirmed tumors and fluid; she was tired.
On her last night, she was so weak she laid her head on her water bowl. I took my pillow and laid on the floor next to her. I told her, "You can let go, don’t worry about me." After about an hour, she summoned the strength to get up and jump onto her perch next to my bed—just to be close to me one last time and get me off the floor. I told her I loved her a hundred times. By the next afternoon, she wouldn't even be tempted by a Churu. It was time.
Final Thoughts
It has taken me a long time to finish this. I started this blog on November 25th and tried to finish it in January at Sundance. Even at the height of my acting career, I was weeping for her in private. Today is March 5th, and I am finally ready to share her story.
She is at Pets Rest in Colma. Her headstone is going in this April, followed by a fence and plants. She was special. She was different. Seventeen years of that personality wove its way into my heart. I am so grateful she came into my life.
Love you, Baby Bear. Love you forever.
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