Little sweet kitty. Cute pink nose, little white paws, orange and black ears, black tail that stands straight up with a curl at the end. My really loud alarm clock. She purred, but it was not that booming purr. It was a subtle purr that could become a subdued roar when she was really into it. She was a nervous Nellie, a scaredy cat who would run and hide every time the doorbell rang and who really did not think much of men at all. She was at my side without my knowledge–just there, suddenly–and if I did not notice her, she would bring out her big girl voice and then I would certainly notice and pick her up and let her settle in my lap.
She knew where to come when she was in trouble, and she was absolutely certain that I could fix anything. But it turned out that she was wrong. She came up with something that I could not fix even though I would have given the world to make her right. Luckily, we had a really good, really compassionate, really wonderful vet. She came to our house and we sat on the bed, my kitty and I–that bed where she spent most of her days hiding under the covers, a little lump. And my little sweet kitty died in my arms, wrapped in my dad’s old shirt.
She is everywhere. But she is not here. Dream happy on your long nap, my sweet love.