My memories of this sweet little boy go back to when I was about 5. He had been born to a stray in the neighborhood, and his mother had chosen my playhouse as a nice, comfy spot to give birth.
That summer my parents and I had gone away for vacation, and a neighbor called to let us know we had new boarders. By the time we returned, we had a batch of new furry friends.
Mr. Kitty was the baby who stole my heart. (Yes, I named him, I was 5!)
I had never owned a cat, of course, and must say I tortured this cat. I have no idea why he put up with my antics or didn't claw my eyes out. I dressed this kitten up in my doll clothes; I rocked him like a baby on his back; I carried him around in a bassinet; I drove him around in my bicycle basket; He was the prized guest at every tea party. Somehow, he managed to love me anyway.
At some point, my parents had him declawed. I admit I worried about him as he loved to lay on our porch in the sun. But for him, it was never an issue. He used his back claws and his teeth, and never missed a beat. One time he brought a live bat into the house, and let it go in our living room! (Mom was terrified! I just thought it was hilarious.)
He put up with various dogs with good humor and friendliness, though not hesitating to put them in their place when he felt it was appropriate. He would pop them on the nose with a mighty paw, and off they would trudge.
As an older cat, he slowed down a bit, and I did worry. I kept preparing myself for his passing, but there was no way to do that truly. I brought him home a kitten I'd discovered in the engine of Mom's car, and expected him to be annoyed or merely ignore her. I was amazed when they bonded and began frolicking around the house together. It was good to see him more energetic and lively, and I truly believe Shyla was my best gift to him.
When he passed away, my parents did not immediately have the heart to tell me. I remember the day Mom spilled the news. I had come for a visit, and she came running to the car. She sat holding my hand, and explained as best she could. I just remember saying, 'I'm not ready to hear that,' over and over again.
Home became less homey after that. I would walk in, and immediately call my boy, only to realize he was gone. My room was a lonely place without him sprawled out on the bed.
What I learned from him was more profound than I realized for many years. He taught me about love and loyalty that crosses all boundaries. He taught me that words are not necessarily important, and snuggling can heal almost anything. He also taught me that grief only deepens your connection with those you hold dear.
That summer my parents and I had gone away for vacation, and a neighbor called to let us know we had new boarders. By the time we returned, we had a batch of new furry friends.
Mr. Kitty was the baby who stole my heart. (Yes, I named him, I was 5!)
I had never owned a cat, of course, and must say I tortured this cat. I have no idea why he put up with my antics or didn't claw my eyes out. I dressed this kitten up in my doll clothes; I rocked him like a baby on his back; I carried him around in a bassinet; I drove him around in my bicycle basket; He was the prized guest at every tea party. Somehow, he managed to love me anyway.
At some point, my parents had him declawed. I admit I worried about him as he loved to lay on our porch in the sun. But for him, it was never an issue. He used his back claws and his teeth, and never missed a beat. One time he brought a live bat into the house, and let it go in our living room! (Mom was terrified! I just thought it was hilarious.)
He put up with various dogs with good humor and friendliness, though not hesitating to put them in their place when he felt it was appropriate. He would pop them on the nose with a mighty paw, and off they would trudge.
As an older cat, he slowed down a bit, and I did worry. I kept preparing myself for his passing, but there was no way to do that truly. I brought him home a kitten I'd discovered in the engine of Mom's car, and expected him to be annoyed or merely ignore her. I was amazed when they bonded and began frolicking around the house together. It was good to see him more energetic and lively, and I truly believe Shyla was my best gift to him.
When he passed away, my parents did not immediately have the heart to tell me. I remember the day Mom spilled the news. I had come for a visit, and she came running to the car. She sat holding my hand, and explained as best she could. I just remember saying, 'I'm not ready to hear that,' over and over again.
Home became less homey after that. I would walk in, and immediately call my boy, only to realize he was gone. My room was a lonely place without him sprawled out on the bed.
What I learned from him was more profound than I realized for many years. He taught me about love and loyalty that crosses all boundaries. He taught me that words are not necessarily important, and snuggling can heal almost anything. He also taught me that grief only deepens your connection with those you hold dear.
