more of the same dreadfulness

After years of promising to be kitty kitty (my friend Nick's cat, who sometimes goes by the moniker Little Kitty for her small size)'s guardian angel, vowing that I would take over her care if it became necessary to do so, if things between he and his ex-girlfriend got sour enough, and finally standing with my arms open wide and ready to take her in, she is gone. Nick to her to the vet today to get a tumor taken out of her throat and they said she didn't have much longer anyway. They put her down.

As one of the few people that Little Kitty even let get close enough to touch, Nick thought it would be a good match. And now that I have my new place, and they allow cats, it would have been the best timing. And I am so sad that she is gone. I am so sad that the last time I saw her, I barely petted her, because I had other things to do and I was just stopping by.

kitty kitty was the sweetest little thing. If she liked you, she would sit by your feet and stare up at you, willing you to lean over and pet her, but in a certain way, with as little actual petting as possible. Sometimes she let me rub her warm, soft belly. She was very small, still kitten-ish, even though she had two litters and was a mature cat, she was tiny. She often sat perched, with her body resting on her long legs, ready to bolt at the slightest offense. Often, when I sat on the couch, she would slink along the back pillows and sit behind my head and let me pet her. Sometimes, when I slept over, I would find her warm body in a circle near my head, a purr ready in her throat.

Sometimes, she liked me enough that she would come out of whatever hiding place she happened to be in and seek me out, which is pretty rare in an otherwise terrified cat. She would slink around my steps, which were always mindful and careful around her. Sometimes, to be near me, she would even risk getting close to the fat, grabby hands of the baby, who wanted nothing more in life at the time than to make out with Little Kitty.

I liked to think that I understood her, and I'd spent enough time there that she knew me. I think also, being slightly allergic to cats, I never went out of my way to find her, chase her down, or pet her. She always came to me.

One night, over the summer, we all had a picnic and we came home and kitty kitty was trapped between our legs with her back to me and a terror in her eyes. I saw her head twist back and forth, trying to decide what route to take. I reached down, and with a swift movement, I picked Little Kitty up and held her close to me, attempting to pet her back and soothe her. I had a lot to drink that night and clearly, my mind was operating on auto-pilot. I would have never picked her up from behind like that if I was sober. She, of course, sunk her claws into my flesh and leapt off my palm into the dark hallway and past the bodies milling about. She actually could have clawed me much worse, I think she was too surprised by me, for I only ended up with a couple scratches and a stigmata-like gouge in my palm.

I know that cats can't live forever. It just seems unfair that exactly at the moment when the stars were lining up to deliver kitty kitty to me and my home, she's gone. And I'll miss her. lots.