A smaller loss, still a loss

The day we got home from Idaho, our little grey cat Miss Kitty greeted us at the door, walked outside (which she hardly ever did) to see the grass and the sky, sat with us all evening in the living room consenting to be petted by the three of us, then when it was time to turn in for the night, excused herself and went to sleep under the bed in the spare room. That's where I found her the next day.

I imagine that the last days of terrible heat were too much for an 18-year-old cat, no matter how plucky. We had a cat sitter and food and water and all for her and Bubba, who is resting by me as I type this, yet it wasn't enough. It seems she had been ailing and fading a long time. It's as though Miss Kitty hung on until her family came home, and checked out peacefully only once we had returned.

She was a saucy but graceful animal. She adopted my father-in-law when she was a young cat of the streets, meowing for three days under his window until it rained and he let her in. Once there, they became fast friends. He named her Krazy Kat, and she embraced dogs, lawyers, and other creatures. When my father-in-law died, she mourned along with us, spending five months in our basement until she decided it was time to come up again. She delighted in walking under my shepherd / heeler's nose and nibbling on my son's hair. She taught my boy life lessons about gentleness and respect (I think the scratch by his right cheekbone is from her!), and my heart broke watching his heart break when I told him the news.

I miss the little cat. I'm grateful she stayed around to say good-bye.

Update: to end this on a grace note, a story from Bellingham about a dying cat finding an unlikely friend (thank you for that, WoT), and audio from NPR - Andrei Codrescu speaking about a special cat, with special lessons.