Last Hugs

One of the blogs in my reader is Crazy Aunt Purl. I can identify with her living alone after her divorce, with 4 felines to keep her company. There were some differences between me and Crazy Aunt Purl. I had only 3 cats when divorced. In my defense, one had gone to kitty heaven (which is also known as hamster hell in our family...) not long before the marriage went belly up, and I also had some kids to keep me sane and/or drive me crazy. You chose.

But I, too, went the self-discovery route, and had good friends that helped keep the walls around me from becoming too thick and steep, and now, down the road aways, I am still alive, and healthier for it.

This is about Phoebe, who was always my little kitty girl, even when she was my old lady kitty. To the credit of the X, she lived. She came to us a stray, as all the kitties I have ever had the pleasure to feed. The X rescued her as a tiny baby kitty on the yellow line of a two lane highway. We always thought she had just been dumped. She lived with me since he brought her home.

Her name came from the Bible, not from 'Friends'. Our kitties ended up with biblical names.  Started with a kitty that was such a momma kitty, so she was Mary.  Then a kitty that was nothing but a little hobo, so he was Joe.  'Outsiders' commented that 'wasn't it cute' the preacher's family named their kitties after the holy family, and we were all huh? Well, if the shoe fits...so the co-dependent calico who would go whereever you would go became Ruth, and Phoebe was just Phoebe.

Phoebe was a fun gardening companion, lurking amongst the flower beds, and when I would reach to grab a weed, often my hand would be grabbed by the Phoeb-meister. She was the littlest and youngest of the kitties but held her own with the others.

When I moved in with the Wonderful Guy, it was very traumatic for Phoebe. Best Dog Ever lived there, but Phoebe was not convinced that she was the best dog ever. While my other 2 kitties adapted to Best Dog Ever and the Cat Who Would Be Queen, Phoebe stayed in the basement for about 2 years. Literally. In the basement. When I was laid off from my job, while at home, I determined that seeing Phoebe feel comfortable upstairs would be my personal goal.

I worked gradually with taking her upstairs with me to the bedroom/bathroom and shutting the door. She got to where I could coax her (which was safer, because she was not de-clawed!) when Best Dog Ever was outside. Then I moved her food bowl upstairs. That was the deal maker! You can tell from the photos, she did not miss any meals.

We began to work on her going outside willingly again. Finally, while I was fixing coffee first thing in the morning, she was coming to the patio door to be let out, just like old times. And Wonderful Guy says he often found her under the raspberry bushes in the afternoon. When it was warmish.  She would have nothing to do with anything outside in inclement weather.  Phoebe, as with most cats, had high standards.

Little by little, things of my old life have passed or been replaced. The car I brought to this relationship (and wrecked!), the furniture's mostly been replaced, my bloodroot that I had carried from the last two places I lived hasn't come back. Things all, and probably time for them to go. But I hold on to stuff in a sentimental fashion, way too long. Somehow it becomes symbolic for me. Phoebe was the last of the 3 kitties, and she was 16 years old this year.

Phoebe was diagnosed with renal disease last year, but showed a terrific will and spirit of life.  Just New Year's Day, while I was taking down the tree, she was chasing the bits and pieces of the tree as they fell on the floor and skittered about. She greeted us each morning with appetite and eccentricities.  She fended Best Dog Ever from the water dish, much to canine chagrin, and reminded the Cat Who Would Be Queen who had claws and who did not.

Until about 10 days ago. And Saturday, I had to make the decision and give her a last gift of kindness. My last kitty is gone and I am sad.

I also have a lot of dried catnip from my yard.  Phoebe loved her some catnip.  One of my goals over the next couple of weeks is to design come up with (gah, design sounded too pretentious!) my own felted catnip toy for Atomic Sisters.  The Phoebe Memorial Catnip Craziness Thingie Whatnot Dohicky.  Or something. (Any suggestions for a name?) (Maybe a contest?) (With a prize of yarn from the Etsy store?)  (I will work on that ...)

Why not?  Otherwise, the Cat Who Is Now Queen will get it all, and that won't be good for her. And it's a way to say good-bye to my friend.

(Pardon me but parts of this post is a rehash from way back machine.)