Ten Little Chances to be Free (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tenlittlebullets) wrote2010-03-23 01:12 am
tenlittlebullets) wrote2010-03-23 01:12 am
RIP Mischief, 1994-2010
My cat just died. I've had her since I was six years old.
We adopted her with her brother Rascal (who died a year and a half ago) from the neighbors, who never got their cats neutered and let them wander around the neighborhood breeding like crazy. I'm glad we rescued two of the cats from that kind of life. It was at a block party, everyone was cooing over the litter of new kittens, and my parents had picked out an orange tabby (later to be named Rascal). I, the socially awkward six-year-old who didn't like parties, was off in the backyard eating my hamburger, when a little black nose poked out of the bushes and I discovered that one of the kittens was also avoiding the party. I fed her bits of hamburger. It was love at first sight. My parents were set on adopting Rascal, and I had to beg them to adopt two cats instead of one--then had to beg Neighbor Mommy to give her up, since she'd decided the black kitten was her favorite ("oh no, not Fluffy!").
Missy was my kitty. She was getting old and blind and fat and arthritic, but she was still incredibly sweet and had the most adorable half-stifled "mew?" in the world. Exactly the same as the first day she poked her nose out of the bushes and mewed at me.
She came down with some sort of urinary problem, Mom took her to the vet, and they essentially told her the cat could make it three weeks, tops, and she'd be in pain. So Mom had her put to sleep. I just... wish I could've been there.
We adopted her with her brother Rascal (who died a year and a half ago) from the neighbors, who never got their cats neutered and let them wander around the neighborhood breeding like crazy. I'm glad we rescued two of the cats from that kind of life. It was at a block party, everyone was cooing over the litter of new kittens, and my parents had picked out an orange tabby (later to be named Rascal). I, the socially awkward six-year-old who didn't like parties, was off in the backyard eating my hamburger, when a little black nose poked out of the bushes and I discovered that one of the kittens was also avoiding the party. I fed her bits of hamburger. It was love at first sight. My parents were set on adopting Rascal, and I had to beg them to adopt two cats instead of one--then had to beg Neighbor Mommy to give her up, since she'd decided the black kitten was her favorite ("oh no, not Fluffy!").
Missy was my kitty. She was getting old and blind and fat and arthritic, but she was still incredibly sweet and had the most adorable half-stifled "mew?" in the world. Exactly the same as the first day she poked her nose out of the bushes and mewed at me.
She came down with some sort of urinary problem, Mom took her to the vet, and they essentially told her the cat could make it three weeks, tops, and she'd be in pain. So Mom had her put to sleep. I just... wish I could've been there.
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So yes, it's heartbreaking. The only thing that can comfort you is to remember what a good life they had and how great it was together. And that makes it hurt even more, but in the end, it helps. A lot.
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*hugs* and *sympathy*
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It's not replacement, but I hope Courfeycat is purring in your lap when next you sit down at the computer.
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