Our beloved kitty had to be put down this morning. The vet told us that she wasn't responding to aggressive treatment, and that she likely had a tumor on her pancreas, or something like that causing her to be unable to regulate her blood sugar or body temperature.
We moved to northern Kansas in 2003. In August, we moved into an apartment that let us pay a deposit and get a cat. So, we went to the Humane Society, and visited with three kitties. The first one hid her face in the corner and wouldn't look at us. The second backed into the corner and growled at us. The third explored the visiting room a bit, played with the toys a bit, then climbed in my lap and started to purr.
She came home with us. And she moved from northeastern Kansas to southwestern Missouri with us. And moved from a rental house to our house less than a year later. She complained with each and every trip, but never lost control of her bowels or stomach.
A couple of years after that, we brought the imp home. We set his carrier down on the floor so that she could meet her new housemate. She crept up real close, just as he was waking up in need of his acid blocker. Just as she leaned in to get a good sniff, he opened his eyes and screamed in her face. She scooted backwards so fast that she left a whisker in his lap.
It took her two weeks to even be willing to peek into his room. Another month after that, she started creeping in to explore the edges of his room. It took until he was six months old for her to even sort of accept him, and then he started to crawl. Then pull up.
She taught him to be very gentle with animals. He had to be if he wanted to be allowed to pet her at all. She taught the pixie the same lesson.
I'm going to miss her so much. She's not the first cat I've ever had, but she was the first cat I've ever had in the house.
53 minutes ago