View media item 306227
It is hard to type. The tears are blurring my vision. Here's her picture from this summer. Today we sent her over the Rainbow Bridge. Her gottcha day was in May 1996. I remember her as this charming little silver and pewter butterfly tabby kitten who grew up to be . . . . Mist. Always a lady, sweet and loving. She had gotten so gaunt, was not eating, very stiff and lame. Would moan, then vomit. Not in pain, I think, but miserable more than happy. And it was not something that would get any better. We'll bury her near her brother Fog. 19 years, 7 months. A long time. Not long enough.
It is hard to type. The tears are blurring my vision. Here's her picture from this summer. Today we sent her over the Rainbow Bridge. Her gottcha day was in May 1996. I remember her as this charming little silver and pewter butterfly tabby kitten who grew up to be . . . . Mist. Always a lady, sweet and loving. She had gotten so gaunt, was not eating, very stiff and lame. Would moan, then vomit. Not in pain, I think, but miserable more than happy. And it was not something that would get any better. We'll bury her near her brother Fog. 19 years, 7 months. A long time. Not long enough.