For just over sixteeen years, she was my constant and patient companion, moving with me from her native South Side of Chicago to the North Side, then to Indiana, Long Island, the Bronx, and Long Island again. (She particularly loved Bloomington and Brooklyn.)
She was orange and striped, with a personality to match. Long-haired, quite aware of her cuteness, prim and a bit presumptuous, she was well-suited to her Sagittarius "owner." She was so cute and desirable that said "owner" had to rescue her from would-be "adopters" no fewer than three times. She was born on Friday, April 21, 1989, to a calico mother named Anastasia, and came to live with me (next door) on the Fourth of July, when the temperature in Chicago was well over 100. We had sixteen years and eight days of friendship to share, and I wonder to what extent I really deserved it.
She was sick only once in her life, as a kitten. Early in the summer, she began to lose interest in that quiet way cats have. She was never in pain and never betrayed any distress whatsoever; she simply began to fade. On July 12, during the daytime hours, she died quietly in Brooklyn. She is buried in the Adirondacks, close to countless hummingbirds, and one trusts that Saint Francis has her tiny, feisty spirit well in hand. |
