On Saturday, my beautiful, feisty cat died. We knew it was coming--Noelle was nearly 20 years old. Until 2 weeks ago she never let anything slow her down for long. She's had numerous UTI's and at least 3 strokes, but she always found a way to spit out her medicine and always made a new path to get on the countertop. But, Mom said, this last stroke, in addition to her blindness and probable diabetes, left her unable to eat, walk well, or be touched without crying.
I haven't lived with her for more than 14 years, but I will always think of her as my cat (though I know Roberta will claim the same). We got her for Christmas in 1989 and her first night with us, she sat on my chest, purred, and rubbed her head against my chin ALL night. All through my high school years she slept in the crook of my knee or arm. She had an strange love for olives and celery. She was beautiful and friendly when she wanted to be. She always slobbered on my crochet yarn and wandered the house crying for a while at night after I went to BYU.
There was something wonderful and comforting about having her curl up on your lap and purr herself to sleep...
I miss her.