Good Night, Sweet Princess

I don't remember when she wandered into my parents' yard. Could have been 18 years ago, when they got their first dog, or could have been later. She was a stray, although she never looked like one. Dad always said she belonged to the neighbor, but I am not sure: she spent more time in my parents' yard than in any other place on the street.

She was smart, as cats go, and she was sassy, as they go, too. But less so than any other cat, she was quiet. She was unobtrusively inserting in the life of our family, and mostly in our hearts forever, without as much as a meow. She never begged per se, but she always sat on the outside window sill of the kitchen waiting for food.

More than any other cats, she was gorgeous. I am yet to meet an ugly cat, really, but she was exquisite. She had the markings of a Siamese cat, with piercing blue eyes, but maybe not with the same body style – more short and dense and less athletic, less tall. I truly thing she was a mutt, but not less beautiful for it.

My first ever Instagram picture was that of Bella

Bella was never officially my parents' cat, but they treated her always like she was. Their first dog never barked at a human, but he barked at Bella (and all the other cats of the neighborhood). He, even, knew she did not belong there. But she came there every day, religiously to nibble at food from her bowl which dad put on the kitchen window sill so the dog won't bother it. She spent many winters in my parents' laundry room, because mom would have no pets anywhere else in the house, otherwise.

I did talk about her as “my parents' cat”, but she was really my dad's. He is the animal lover in our midst and he infected both me and my sister with the love for cats. Mom could take pets or leave them, but mostly leave them.

She spent an errant life, really, of a stray cat. She would perch on top of roofs and jump from yard to yard, to avoid the busy street filled with crazy drivers, and naughty kids who would surely torment her. This made her smart.

She hoped from yard to yard, but I think she was fed only at our house. My parents were probably the only ones on the street going to the pet store for Bella. She scavenged what she could off the other neighbors, from trash and dropped food. But she had her designated food and water bowls at our house.

I never heard the neighbor ever looking for her when she was gone from their yard.

When we were there, she came and snuggled and said 'hello' in a quiet, shy voice. She loved to be petted and loved on. She did like humans, to some extent, after all, but never expected anything from you. She purred in content when you paid her any amount of attention. She was tame. She was a stray but definitely never feral.

This fall, she disappeared for a few days. Dad was besides himself with worry. We knew she was old, but I don't think we ever knew exactly how old. Dad thought for sure it was “her time” and she would probably never come back. But she did. Dad said she came back “fatter.” Well, they only found out recently that she was actually sick: her abdomen started swelling up with fluid and this past week she was the “fattest” she had ever been although she all but stopped eating or drinking.

Today, they found her on the floor of the bathroom, motionless. She was breathing, but that's about all. It was time. And she knew it. She had come back home, for the final stop. Like the owner that he acted as all these years, it was dad's “job” (the hardest job in the world) to help her through her final hours.

She was such a big presence in the landscape of my parents' house. She had, like all pets do, the superpower of really inserting themselves deeply into our hearts, right where our softest, most delicate, and most vulnerable spot lives.

She leaves a big hole in our hearts. My heart cries mostly for my dad, but for all of us who knew and loved her, over the years. I hope she is now truly free to roam, without cars, naughty neighborhood kids and dogs to chase her. And I hope she tells all our other furry friends that we miss and love them, too.

Rest, sweet girl. No more worries where to spend the winter. You will always be part of our family.

This is the last picture I took of her, this past May. It looks like she prophetically is waving us 'good bye.' Sweet girl!