Between dumped critters and “misfit” cats my aunt adopted yearly, I grew up a cat lover. Country life is hazardous, and eventually she wanted an indoor kitten for me. A feed store bulletin board listed a foster home with calicos. We went for Hummingbird, a stunning tortoiseshell. She immediately crawled into my lap, but her heart murmur rendered her unadoptable. Her sister peered standoffishly from under the couch. Baby Ozzy was extracted. Butterfly became mine. Hummingbird passed peacefully.
Booders was often independent, distant, and some days downright spiteful, mellowing with age. She sometimes slept curled around my head, grumbling if I moved. “The old lady”, for her nagging yowl and crotchetiness, shadowed me, conversed, and curled up in my lap. Through growing up, an unfaithful military husband, and multiple moves (one overseas and back), she was there. Amusingly, she enjoyed hotel stays, often highly stressful times. I worried about her welfare more than mine. For 14 years she was my constant, and my spoiled baby. I knew I’d lose her eventually. I still wasn’t ready when it happened.
When I returned from a trip, she wasn’t eating much. This was regular, but she didn’t stabilize like usual. The vet followed. Unlike two months before, she was diagnosed with aggressive intestinal cancer. She had a lemon-sized mass. Even if she survived an operation, it’d likely return in under a year. She’d need endless visits and pills; she abhorred both. Only one option remained.
One week before Christmas, my beautiful Butterfly flew with Hummingbird. Thankfully she passed before my divorce, though I missed her. My little rescue saved me countless times. Sometimes I wake with my arm around where she would’ve slept, and I swear, there’s a whispered purr and her spot is warm. Like her place in my heart, furever.
Gilbert, AZ
