When I woke up yesterday morning, I had 3 cats. One may have been old and her ass may have been drunk, but she was there, and she was doing fine. By the end of the day she was gone and buried.
Sugar was a small (7lbish) siamese mix cat. She died near her 17th birthday. She was a Christmas present to me in 1990. Best Christmas present ever. I remember that Mom and Dad and I went out to this lady's house (who I forever after nicknamed The Cat Lady). She had tons of cats. She brought out this one tiny little siamese kitten and asked if we wouldn't mind taking this specific one, because she was the runt. We took her. I remember her getting all carsick on the way home - nastiness coming out of both ends, and how we joked about how much nasty smelling stuff could possibly come out of such a tiny cute little kitten. She quickly discovered that her favorite spot was curled up just below my right ear once we got home, and she purred like a motorboat. The white parts of her siamese-ness were so pure white that my 9-year-old self named her Sugar. She was polydactyl, meaning that she had an extra toe on each of her front paws, so we called her Sugar Mittens. She also loved laying in front of the fire. Soon enough she discovered that older people are stiller and quieter than young ones, and attached herself to my Mom. When she was about 3 years old, she got out of the house and was gone for about 2 weeks. It must have been Spring or Fall, because we were sleeping with the windows open and Dad woke up in the middle of the night to hear her crying. He followed the sound down the street and found her in front of the elementary school. He brought her home. She must have been drinking out of people's hoses, because after that she always preferred to drink her water dripping out of the sink. It really wasn't surprising that she could wake Dad up with her cry in the middle of the night, because boy, did that cat ever have a set of lungs. I once had an apartment neighbor tell me that she always knew when I left town for the weekend because she heard the cat crying. Sugar followed me to college at the end of my junior year when my roommate had moved out. That is when I will tell you that she saved my life, just by being there and being dependent on me. I actually told Mom that I'd only take her on a trial basis, because I knew she was more Mom's cat than mine, and I thought she'd be really happier with Mom. But she adjusted well, and even seemed to become attached to me, and we lived 5 years together happily after that. She was never an overly friendly cat, to the point that Preston and I nicknamed her "Old Biddy" in the past year or so, but she and I had an understanding. I would provide the food, water, and petting when she arrived on my lap, and she would arrive on my lap at least once per day. That was our arrangement, and it worked for us. She'd even show up specifically at times when I was stressed out, as if she knew that a purring kitty was just what I needed. I'll never forget how much she helped me in that way one miserable junior high piano recital day. We've had a couple of scares in recent years. In 2004 when I was in Denton, she was facing off with another cat on the other side of the window when she became entangled in the pull cord for the blinds and practically hung herself from her abdomen. I rescued her, but not before she sunk her teeth into my wrist in fear. That little puncture wound got terrible infected, one of the most painful happenings in my life, but I was just so glad that Sugar was unharmed. More recently, back in January when her ass got wobbly, I thought we were near the end. But she coped with her wobbliness really very well - so well that I was really quite startled when I found her paralyzed yesterday. And even more recently she escaped for a final time while I was away getting married. I though surely I'd lost her for good and was wracked with guilt, but 4 days later Preston found her a mere 5 houses down the street, seemingly no worse for wear. She lived in 7 places. Had 5 seperate kitty companions, all of which she tolerated and hated equally. I will miss her terribly. I'll miss her yowling every night when Preston and I are trying to watch tv. I'll miss having to lead into the house with my foot because she's trying to escape as usual past any unwitting human coming into the house. Most of all I'll miss getting out of the shower and laying down on the bed and having her arrive for her attention without fail, because she loved clean humans. I'll miss her crawling up me and sticking her nose against my lips for me to blow gently on, and I'll miss the motorboat purring that never ran out of gas.
I may not believe in God or heaven for myself, but I hope that there is a kitty heaven, and I hope she is outdoors in it where she always wanted to be, playing like she was young and napping in sunny spots, and finding someone's lap to purr in and be petted in, but only when she wants to. She was a good cat. We had an understanding. I loved her, and I will miss her.
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