Richard C. White (nightwolfwriter) wrote,
Richard C. White

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It's a little quieter around here

One of our cats died last night.

She'd gotten sick over the weekend, but she didn't seem really bad off, so we waited until Monday morning to take her into the vet. Apparently she'd been sick for a while, but cats are resiliant. . . they can hide being sick very well until they're really sick, and by then it was too late. The Vet worked on her all Monday, but she passed away last night. We found out at 10 this morning.

She was a Domestic Long Hair, part Maine Coon, a feral rescue we got five years ago. When we decided to get some cats for our new home, we decided we wanted to get some rescued cats, and preferably slightly older ones. Kittens have no problems getting adopted. We'd picked out one Domestic Short Hair, and were looking at a couple of white cats, when the lady said, I do have one more rescue, but she stays downstairs because she doesn't get along with my dog. She went downstairs, and before she reached the door on her way up, we could hear the cat. I swear, she must have swallowed an Evenrude Outboard motor! Just purring and purring. One look at her, and we knew she was the one who was coming home with us.

She quickly became wishweaver's cat. Of the three cats we have, Fluffy was the most cat-like. Hot and cold, affectionate when she wanted to be and downright snarly when she wanted to be left alone. But, when she wanted to be affectionate, she was unrestrained with her attention. There was no question, she ruled the rest of the cats, although the youngest (Sam) seemed to enjoy pushing the limits of what she'd tolerate. She was the one who came in at 0530 to ensure one of us was awake to feed her and was always underneath our feet at 1655, hinting that in five minutes, it would be dinnertime.

As a former feral cat, part of our agreement for taking her was to keep her indoors. She used to spend hours looking out the back door watching the world go past or creep ever closer to the front door when we were hauling groceries in. She also never quite lost the habit of bolting her food whenever she got to eat. You'd think after five years, she'd have gotten used to the idea of getting two squares a day and room and board, but she was still wary. Only in the last year, did she really start to relax, sleeping on her back with her stomach exposed.

wishweaver is holding up o.k. so far. I think it helps that my folks are here this week and we're redecorating the house. It's keeping her busy when she's not at work. The daughter unit is hanging in, also. Having Grandma around helps there too.

Me? I'm here at 2342 writing about Fluffy, and I'm not a cat person.

At least, I claim not to be.

You make the call there.

Goodbye, Fluffy. Thanks for helping make our house a home.

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