I never would have pegged myself as a cat-lover, but I loved my kitty. When we moved to Logan, and picked a house straight across from a field, Bryan kept mentioning we needed a cat. And that's when Kit came into the picture. We found her on the side of the road, abandoned, along with the rest of her siblings. Sadly, she was the only one left alive; barely. Her eyes were filled with goop and she made no protests when I scooped her into my hands. She was a teeny ball of fluff. We brought her back from Death's fingertips.
Naming her was a pain. We had the hardest time thinking of one that would fit her personality. I kept mentioning Polly Prissy Pants, but it just didn't really fit. When I took her to the vet, they asked for her name, and I stumbled. We had been calling her Kitty-Kat, and I couldn't tell them that. What would they think? So I mumbled Kit, and it stuck.
About a year and a half ago, we lost Kit. Our neighbor mentioned her dogs had noticed her laying motionless across the street on their early morning walk. We were already at work, and didn't find out until that evening, when someone else had already taken care of her. Without the usual closure of losing a pet, it was hard to really feel she was gone. She was just on an adventure, or maybe mad that I threw a prize mouse away and was keeping her distance. But when a week went by and no food was eaten, the sad realization sunk in.
I miss her terribly, but no longer sit on the porch waiting for her to wander over. I know she's no longer here with us. But once in a blue moon, I'll hear her meowing outside the window. It's nice to think she hasn't forgotten us, and maybe misses us as much as we miss her.
1 comment:
I remember that kitty. I remember when she used to bring the little mice to the back door all proud and excited to bring you lovely gift. Sometimes we don't realize how attached we have gotten until something happens to them.
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