She came from a no-kill animal shelter, the only cat in the cage actively looking around, examining her surroundings. She caught my attention immediately, and when I held her, I knew she was the perfect cat. After I signed the paperwork and paid the adoption fee, the woman who had cared for her all but cried when she handed her over. I could tell she was going to miss her, and it soon became obvious why.

She’s so sweet and loving. When she was young, she was awake and active more than any other cat I’d ever seen. Her favorite toy was the string from a pair of sweatpants. She carried it with her everywhere. She would drag it into one room, play with it, then carry it somewhere else to play with. I found it in a different place all the time.

She isn’t the smartest cat in the world. In fact, I think she might be one of the dumbest. When she climbs on the kitchen counters, virtually the only place in the house she isn’t allowed, she meows loudly, letting us know very clearly what she’s doing. She used to do somersaults and try to look cute when she did something wrong, in the hopes the cute would make us forget what she did. Sometimes it worked.

She’s perfectly content sitting in our laps, or sleeping under the blankets in bed, curled between my arm and side. She loves having her belly rubbed. When we put a pet door in the door to the attached garage for the litter box, she discovered heaven in the form of an un-air conditioned garage during a Texas summer.

She’s almost 15, and she’s been with us for 13 years. She’s in a lot of pain, having a lot of problems, and it’s only going to get worse. We don’t like seeing her suffer. Tomorrow morning we take her to the vet. She won’t be coming back.

I wish it could have lasted longer, but I’m glad I got to know her.


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