Kitty Love

We'd been in our new Georgia home for several months when we came to the conclusion that it was time to change our pet-free status.  We decided to get a kitten, and there was a pet adoption event at the local Dodge dealership.

They were all so cute - so hard to decide!  We narrowed it down to two;  a striped gray and white tabby with sparkly green eyes and a ginger puff ball with a persistent demand for affection.  How to choose...how to choose...

In the end, it was the Mister who made the tough call, and we took them both.  After minimal debate, the tabby was creatively named Abby, and the ginger kitty was named Sandy.  Over time, their individual personalities began to surface.  Abby is not, shall we say, the brightest bulb in the box.  Nor does she appreciate any attempts to pick her up and snuggle her.  Physical affection is only permitted on her terms and according to her timing.  Heaven help you if you need some kitty love and she isn't in the mood. 

Sandy, on the other hand, is affectionate to a fault.  She also doesn't care for being picked up much, but she loves to make biscuits on fuzzy blankets and drools with joy if you pet her concurrent to the biscuits.  Early on, she demonstrated an overt preference to be an "outside" kitty, so many is the night that I've stood out in the rain or snow, calling "heeeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty kitty" in a ridiculous falsetto.

She evolved into quite the huntress, regularly paying her room and board with headless birds and disemboweled field mice.  You couldn't really be mad at her - she is a pro, fearless to a fault.  In the summer, she skinnies down to a lean and lithe hunting machine, and in the winter, she chubs up with a thick layer of fat and fur.

We have lots of hawks in our area, and I've long worried that one of them would swoop down in a fit of karma and carry the skinny summer Sandy away.

But instead, at 5 p.m. this afternoon, Sandy lost her life under the wheels of a neighbor, who was very nearly as distraught as we are.  Sandy was forever dashing across the road in hot pursuit of wildlife or in response to my cat-calling (and yes, this cat would actually come when she was called.)  Today she was sparring with another kitty on our street and bolted out in front of Ms. Jane's car far too quickly for any other possible outcome.

We have the indescribably good fortune to have kind neighbors who immediately came to the front door and gently broke the news.  A couple of dear people encircled her little broken body while Dave and I approached...we made the kids stay behind at the house.  I couldn't go all the way to the scene.  I saw her head and soft white arm from a distance and I knew I couldn't take another step.

And so I thank God for my husband, who held her while she died and is handling all the necessary steps to conclude this awful chapter.

It is at these times that I swear I will never take in another pet - it is just too hard to say goodbye.  You don't have to say goodbye if you never say hello in the first place.

But instead I will hold Sarah the Dachshund and Abby the Tabby tonight and be grateful for their place in our hearts.  And be glad that we had our awesome killer cat Sandy for the years that we did.  Love you, kitty.