Yesterday I put down HC
(same pics as on front page). We had six months to get used to the idea her illness was terminal and today I have an unexpected feeling of completion, even though her absence leaves a hole I feel all the time.
She had a strange characteristic for a cat: my partner and I agree that she was the most sensible member of the family. When the dog barked she would alert, and if he kept it up she would come inside. She ate nothing stupidly. She recognized patterns of behavior and dealt with them. She knew to get under something when she saw or heard a hawk, but knew not to fear deer. True, she brought a live rattlesnake into the house once but we were supposed to be impressed, and we were. Whether in a trailer, a house, or a backpack she was intensely interested in everything. Wearing the backpack I could not see her but I could feel the shifts as she moved around, looking at things. She was wary, and independent, and never a lap cat but she loved it when her family was around her so she could keep an eye on us, I think.
I'd had to work to get her. She danced out from behind a cable reel one day when I was having lunch in the parking lot of a place I worked, saw me and ran. Three months' worth of sharing my lunch later, I closed the car door and took her home.
In the morning I opened the window and she went outside. In the evening she came back in the window and I closed it. (N. B. I live at the end of a private road. The nearest neighbor is a quarter of a mile away. Her range never extended to their house.)
Lather, rinse, repeat for fifteen years.
Just now I am afraid to get a cat, but I must have one. I have not been cat-less for twenty-five years.
I've gotten all my pets by accident so far. When my beloved Hot-dog died I waited to see if another accident would bring me a dog. It didn't happen. I would like one but not the way I must have a cat.
How long shall I wait for judgment to return?