Ari Daniel
Ari’s name fits him in so many languages: in Hebrew, it means ‘lion’; in Armenian, ‘noble’ or ‘courageous’; and in Old Norse, ‘the best, the most supreme’. In Japanese, it translates to ‘younger sibling’, while in Badaga, it means ‘sweet one’. In Maori, it signifies ‘precious and lovable’ or ‘treasure’. He is all of those and more.
While working in the veterinary field many years ago, my prayers were answered when a feral, orange boy kitten arrived at our hospital. He was bubbly and curious, with the energy and focus of a wandering butterfly. I had Oberon, a one-year-old kitty at the time. I'd rescued him as a kitten, almost exactly a year before. The timing was right to expand the family, and it was clear this little orange baby was meant to join ours.
I named him "Ari." It just came to me, and it fit this brave and sweet little lion. He and Obi became inseparable siblings, and grew up together in our little apartment on Main Street in Ellicott City, Maryland.
He had many car adventures over the years to visit family nearby. He was the most affectionate and gentle soul, and easily found open arms to snuggle into. He loved his blue donut toy, whipped cream, and finding all the best spots to climb and explore, including Christmas trees. He was a precision-skilled hunter, and valiantly defended the house from crows and dogs that ventured too close to the front door. He'd wake me up by gently booping my nose with his big white paw. Or he'd lay across my head like a hat. He inspired so much art, which thankfully adds to his immortality.
His courage was tested when Ellicott City was wiped off the map by historic floods, both in 2016 and 2018. With the second flood, he escaped through a broken window. After two hours of searching with a firefighter, I spotted him under a deck. We bent the fencing back, I crawled through the mud to reach him, and was able to safely secure him in his carrier. We got both Ari and Obi out safely, and I still thank everyone and everything that helped us get out of that chaos together.
Ari was more anxious and quick-to-hide after that, but things changed when I met my husband, Nino. I knew even before introducing them that they were made for each other. Nino is a decorated Iraqi war veteran. He has known trauma, yet has the most gentle, golden heart, and a gift for creating safety. Despite never having had a cat before, I knew he'd fall in love with Ari instantly.
Obi, Ari, and I soon moved in with Nino. On Ari's first day in the new place, we gave him space and allowed him to explore on his own terms. We went to bed, and the next morning something incredible had happened: I woke up to Ari cuddling in Nino's arms. Nino told me that in the night, Ari had popped out on his side of the bed to look at him. "I'm not your mom," he whispered to Ari. Ari seemed to be perfectly okay with that, jumped onto the bed, and slept the whole night, snuggled into Nino. From that moment on, they were bound together, and Ari slept with him every night.
Ari found endless worship, and absolute peace with Nino. In turn, Nino received unconditional, endless, pure love with Ari. They healed each other, and found deep comfort in their bond.
Together, we all lived in a new sense of stability and happiness. Ari was there to help us celebrate our engagement, and our wedding. He moved states with us, and spent his days getting brushed and pampered, playing with his favorite fuzzy worm toys, enjoying his cookies, and soaking up the sun in his favorite window hammock in our sunroom. He was an intensely loving presence that we were fortunate enough to feel and treasure every day.
Ari lived a beautiful life. He was taken far too soon, but was surrounded by love his entire time here. The day we had to release him was puncuated by a freak snow storm. The decline and beyond-difficult decision hit us with the intensity of 1,000 storms over. I have never known pain like that. We gave him a last, loving act on Earth, and at the same time our world felt like it had just disappeared around us.
After driving home through the snow and heaviness, we sat in the sunroom. In our new grief, we managed to reminisce about his brightness. He was an endless source of pure light. He was love embodied. We found so much peace and comfort with him. He held such a HUGE space in our hearts and our life. How could we go on without him? Nino and I hugged through tears.
And then...
The snow slowed to a stop.
The clouds paused, and parted.
And great beams of sunlight cracked through the grey.
The warmth poured over our faces, our shoulders.
And suddenly, the entire sunroom was bathed in the brightest golden light.
"Ari's here," I said.
"He's the sunshine."
