My precious cat, my long-time best friend and companion, that I loved so dearly, died today. My heart is broken, my tears flow down my cheeks in a torrent of sadness I cannot stop, and I feel lost and muddled, so alone without Ms Kitty here with me; something is missing now I may never recover–part of me is gone.
I am not a cat person–never was until that little black Burmese just-past-kitten character appeared at my patio door one morning as I was making my coffee–cuteness personified as her mouth meowed to come in for a visit.
Ms Kitty adopted me about ten years ago and my life changed. She became my companion, my bedmate, and my loving cat–always there in sickness and in health. Keeping me company in her own unique way, making me laugh at least a thousand times with some antic or another.
There was the time I was walking past my bathroom a when I heard a noise. Who could that be in my bathroom in the dark? I wondered. She had frequently captured little geckos and brought them home to me, laying them at my feet, alive and trying to flee this monster who had caught them in her mouth. She never killed one, but I always picked the poor creature up and tossed it over the balcony to safety, which caused Ms Kitty no small amount of dismay.
Look, Mister, I bring you food and you free it. Well, we’ll see about that!
She figured out that if she took that plaything to the bathtub, it couldn’t escape, and more importantly, I couldn’t toss it over the balcony. So there she was, as I turned on the light and opened the shower door, letting the gecko get about half up the wall of the tub, then knocking it back to the bottom with her paw. Having a whale of fun playing with her captured little lizard.
She would rather jump into a shopping bag I brought home with the groceries, or a cardboard box, than play with all the expensive toys I bought at the pet shop. She’d sit in the paper bag or box, peering over the top at me as if she was in very safe place and I could not get to her, as she sat there with only her furry black head visible, looking out at me.
There are so many funny stories I could tell–such as the time she stole the catnip from my grocery bags and snuck into the bedroom, hiding it. I awoke early one morning–about two am–to the sound of crinkling of plastic coming from the corner where a dresser stood. With my flashlight from my night stand, I spotted Ms. Kitty huddled under the dresser enjoying some late night catnip from her stash. The look of guilt and surprise she gave me had me laughing for ten minutes.
It’s difficult for anyone not having a favorite pet to understand the sadness of losing one. It hurts–immensely. The feeling of loss is deep and intense. I recall having occasional brief and fearful thoughts of what I would do if Ms Kitty ever died suddenly by whatever means–we have a coyote problem here and cats have often been the victims of them–and quickly cringed and wiped them from my mind. I couldn’t image such a loss, couldn’t fathom the pain it would cause me–until today.
I suppose, like all deaths we experience, I will, in time, feel less of the far-reaching and profound sense of loss, recall with love the memories of my little black cat, and somehow manage to move on with life. We all do when death knocks on our door.
But today, for now, I cannot. Not today, and I expect tonight, as darkness falls on me and the home that I shared with Ms Kitty for so long, will be a long and lonely vigil.
I will always remember her as “Class in a Black Fur Coat,” my lovable, petite, and unique Ms Kitty Kitty Kitty.