Maggie

We sent Maggie to Heaven last month.  She had been sick for about a week.  In typical cat fashion, she hid the extent of her illness ... that's okay, because we did all that we could.

Maggie was our miracle kitty, the world's most expensive PetsMart cat, surviving two life-threatening conditions (Immune-Mediated Hemolytic Anemia and Hodgkin's Lymphoma), and living an incredible life in the process.

Lounging on the screened porch, as a kitten.

Helping with laundry.

She ruled the other critters in our household with a velvet paw, gently (or not-so-gently) showing each cat and dog who was the boss.

Sleeping on Daniel's bed.

Taking over Ruby's crate.

"Excuse me, this is MY windowsill!"

Even Winnie little wasn't exempt.

She probably would have been happier as an only cat, since she was so people oriented, but she coexisted relatively peacefully with Alice and Dorothy (and with Cindy and Amy before them.)

Sharing space.

Poor Maggie wasn't used to Dorothy's type of snuggling.

Maggie loved her people most of all.  She was in the middle of everything, and a constant fixture in my or my husband's lap every evening.

I have come to accept that she's gone, no longer napping somewhere in a sunshine spot.

My favorite photo of her, with her personality on full display and her neck fur barely growing back after cancer surgery.

The last photo I took of her, on the way to the vet a few days before she died.

It's weird to be here without Maggie ... she was a huge presence in our family for 15 years.

Maggie.  2001 - 2016

Godspeed, Maggie.  Mama loves you.

Goodbye, Sweet Kimba

I first introduced you to Kimba, our outdoor cat, in THIS post.  Since then, her health has been declining, slowly and steadily.  Even at her advanced estimated age of 18 years old, she had a fantastic quality of life ... eating well, bright eyed and interested, greeting all of the humans who came to her porch. 

Yesterday morning, she was lying in the grass in one of her usual spots, but she didn't look like she was sleeping peacefully like she usually is.  I picked her up, and she struggled a bit (she doesn't like being carried).  I carried her to the porch to check her over, and when I sat her down, her back legs wouldn't support her weight.

 I settled Kimba into her heated box on the porch, and I went inside to get the phone to call our veterinarian.  I promise all our pets that I will never allow them to suffer.  The final ride in the car, with Kimba wrapped in a towel cradled in my lap, is one of the most heart-breaking things I know.  It is the ultimate kindness, though, and I bear the pain to make sure that my pets don't have to. 

Kimba was the Queen of Hartwood, the cat who came with our house when we bought it in 2002, and I cannot imagine not having her here.  She sat on the porch, or in the garden, surveying her domain and inspecting whatever was happening.  She came to our relationship frightened and distrustful ... and she left, sitting on my lap cradled in my arms, as a trusting member of the family, secure in the knowledge that she was loved.

Kimba's favorite place to nap was a sunny spot in the rose bed on the south side of our house.  I think this is the perfect spot to put her ashes.  She is a part of this place, and here she shall stay.

Rest in peace, sweet Kimba.  I miss you already.