The Tree

I told myself a long time ago that I would always decorate a tree for Christmas. As long as I am able and on my two feet, I will always pull out the boxes from the attic and hang the ornaments on that tree. So far, I have kept my promise. I have a whole routine, just like we did when we were little and my sister and I decorated our family's tree. Then, we had Christmas cartoons playing on the VCR. Nowadays, I switch to Pandora Christmas stations on my iPad and listen to "happy" Christmas music (none of that sad, somber classical stuff which is good, but not for tree trimming!). 

I do believe that decorating marks the actual end of the year for me - trimming the house, cleaning it, emptying out the closets of clothes I haven't worn, and ... the Christmas tree, the celebration that we made it through another trip around The Sun. It's a milestone, visible, tangible. 

Over the years, my tree has gotten a lot of personality, I think. First off, since around 2004 or so, I decided that ornaments of my tree should only be either purple or white. The lights - only white. No other color is allowed and there are very few exceptions but they must be extremely well argumented. I used to be an "all-color ornaments" type of person. But around 2004 or so, a friend from work gave me a purple ornament because she knew that was my favorite color. That started it all. I thought, "wouldn't it be nice to only have purple ornaments in my tree?!" 

Experience has taught me that purple ornaments are rare, and the tree might look too dark in "only" purple, so white and silver came to the rescue. Nowadays, I have lots of ornaments that we picked out on our many travels (remember those?!), as well as many that my friends have gifted me. They are more or less eclectic, but there are themes, too, like Nativity, or hearts, for example. 

When I trim my tree every year, it not only gives me a chance to reflect over another finished year, but by unboxing all the ornaments, it gives me a chance to remember all those who gave them to me. Our common experiences and bonds. Our friendships, or even estrangement. I remember all the places that I went to to get them and bring them home. This year, more than ever, I felt like we needed more connection (for obvious reasons), and the ornaments helped me remember that we're not alone in the world. That people that love us are out there, behind masks, waiting patiently, and one day, if we hope right ... we might find them again and make new stories. 

Here are some of the favorite highlights from our tree. 

The purple tea kettle that started it all - cca 2004

My husband is German. My mother-in-law taught us a German tradition that says you have to hide a pickle in the Christmas tree for good luck. She gave this to us for our first Christmas as a married couple (2010). This is one of the "non-purple-or-white" exceptions.

Ours friends went to Jerusalem a few years back and brought us this olive wood-carved Nativity Scene. It is one of my favorite ornaments, still. 

Just like the one above, these are an exception to the color - they are all made of wood. My husband made both of these. Although the "spinner" is truly gorgeous and so classy, I really like the whimsical snowman because the hat makes him so sassy.

AtTask 2013 - this is the company I have worked for now for close to 10 years, which has been renamed twice since this ornament was gifted to us at a Christmas party and since I started there. It's probably a collectible right about now. 

There are a lot of hearts in my tree. Those who know me understand why. My husband gave me this enormous purple one the year I had my open-heart surgery (2016). It's mouth-blown glass and so heavy. I love so much its symbolism. 

My husband and I give each other an ornament every year, much like we give each other a card. I have said the words written on this heart to him for years. And one year (I believe 2017), I walked into a store in our new city in NC and there it was. I got it because it pretty much tells our story, the way I see it. 

One of my long, long, long-time friends gave me this camera ornament. It's mostly black (another exception), but it has a fair amount of silver, so it's allowed. It's also allowed because we're both shutter bugs. 

Two of my absolute favorites: home-made ornaments by my sister, with my nephews, back when they loved each other and would sit still (mostly) for a cute picture. They are frozen in time and will always and forever be this cute and happy and perfect to me. (2012 and 2011)

One of my dear friends gave me these two ornaments  during a completely different time in my life. So different that it seems now like it was in another life. They are both hand-painted - the first one is glass and the second one is a real egg painted with the Nativity Scene. I love how fragile and unique they are. Another thing I love about my tree is how it holds the history of almost my entire life and reminds me of my journey.  

This is part of our "travel" collection: Mexico, Hawaii, Outer Banks, NC, Biltmore Estate (Asheville, NC), San Francisco, CA, Key West, FL

We bought this on our last cruise (2019) in The Bahamas. While we were on that cruise, our sweet cat, Gypsy died at home. We were not ourselves the entire trip. I could not have thought of anything more fitting to get for my tree than an angel that will forever remind me of him. Out of all our travel ornaments, this one is the most meaningful.

This is a wire ball filled with pine potpourri. My aunt gave it to me in 2008! and it still smells like pine. I have never changed its content. We bought it while she was visiting the US for her first (and only) time. 

One of my dearest friends gave me these two hearts. They are sweet reminders of her and what a kind person and steadfast friend she is. 

These are my babies. I might have other kitties at some point in my life, but they will always, no matter how small my tree will get, be in my tree. Always part of my life in some way ... Miss them all dearly, especially as I decorate, because there are no tails popping out of empty ornament boxes anymore.  

I lived in NC before but never knew you are supposed to have a cardinal in your Christmas tree for good luck. I just found that out last year. It is my favorite wild bird, so as soon as I learned this I indulged in yet another exception to the color. 

I hope that whatever your physical or metaphorical tree holds this year it reminds you of happy times and foretells of many possibilities to come. 

I wish everyone much health, first, and much hope. 

Happy Holidays, everyone! 

My Lucky-Charm Cat

Gypsy: May, 2001 - November, 2019

This is the first blog I am writing in many, many years from my home, when I am not getting sidetracked by little fuzzy paws pulling at my sleeve as I type, asking me to stop and play with them; I am not getting pitter-patter feet running across my keyboard, nor kitty faces rubbing against my laptop lid, in a tireless effort to make it close. This is because for the first time in 21 years I am in my house, completely catless.

Our last kitty, Gypsy, went away to meet his two brothers over the rainbow bridge this past week. He was 9 days short of being exactly 18 and a half years. The pain of missing him is only surpassed by our regret of not being able to be there when he passed. Life wanted it other ways … But this is not about us … It’s really about him.

Gypsy  was an answer to a long, secret wish I had as a 20 some year old. Before I moved to the Bible-belt South, I never knew such hatred towards black cats. I was amazed every fall, around Halloween, how people found black cats mutilated and strangled, and drowned in bags in the river. Humanity, or lack thereof, made me sick. Although at the time I was a happy mommy of two gorgeous cats, I said to myself: “one day, I want to have a black cat! I want to love him and raise him and turn him into the most amazing, kind, gorgeous kitty so I can show all these freaks that black cats are awesome.” No sooner did I utter this wish than in two or three-week’s time, we started hearing this piercing meow under our house, coming from the crawlspace. We had a stray cat that usually came and went, and we were thinking, OK, maybe it’s in heat and she’ll stop once it’s all over. But the meow would not stop. A day became two. A night became three, and the meow continued.

One warm late May afternoon, I opened the door to the crawlspace to let the poor creature out, weary from several sleepless nights where it had kept me awake with the incessant meow-and-meow-and-meow. I was figuring it must be a huge kitty, probably hungry from days of being trapped and dying to get out. When I opened the door, the meow kept getting closer to me, so I knew the kitty found its way to the opening. Instead of a huge kitty, to match the loud meow, I saw this tiny fuzzball, easily under a pound, covered in cobwebs, one eye half closed, I thought, or just dirty with under-the-house muck, big blue eyes, and completely black walking towards me, slipping and sliding on the rotten beams we stored in the crawlspace at the time. His voice was piercing. I had never heard such a loud meow in any size of a cat, but especially in a cat small enough to fit my palm! Since the minute we made eye contact, he did not want to lose my sight! He had the most expressive face and just begged and begged for help and comfort.

I knew I had to keep him! I was absolutely smitten, and my prayer of an all-black cat was right then and there answered. I took him to the vet who thought I wanted to put him up for adoption, having just found him under the house. I was insulted. How can someone, anyone, put this kitty up for adoption?! Just look at him: eyes blue as the skies, hungry, lonely, skinny as a rail, tiny, lonely, and all he wants is some food and love. Who can put him back out there into the world with no one to his name?! He became mine, or rather I became his the first moment we locked eyes. I asked the vet to check him out, before I would bring him to my other cats, to ensure he is not carrying some odd disease. He was not. Other than being severely dehydrated and hungry, he was 100% healthy. The doctor called him “a woolly worm” and he said: “This cat has incredibly strong lungs, and that is a sure sign that he will have a long and healthy life.”

We named him Gypsy, as my mom who was then visiting suggested “kindly”. The name fit: he was independent, dark, stubborn as they come, and with no regard to anyone’s wishes but his own. He was then and he remained for the rest of his life, the baby. Me-me-me … all the way.

As a young cat, he got himself into all sorts of troubles. He chewed more wires than any other cat I had. He chewed my shoes like a dog. He was 100% nocturnal. When the sun would go down, that’s when he was wide awake and ready to play, bite your toes, lick your face, knock pictures off the walls in your bedroom, and pull your hair. He was relentless. No matter how much he got sprayed with water, he continued his shenanigans for years. He was fearless of getting in trouble. I always joked that he knew that if I saved his life, there is nothing that I could ever do to hurt him, so he was not really ever scared of any consequences. I think he was maybe 8 or 9 when I ever noticed any sign of him slowing down and maturing just a tad … He was always playful, curious and loud. With all that said, he was also the most gentle cat you ever met: he literally had no idea how to hurt anyone, but especially humans. He trusted humans more than any other cat I knew. He never bit or scratched maliciously. Ever. He was trusting and gentle.  

People will talk about cats that want to escape and want to be outside more than they want to be inside. The number one prerequisite for being my cat is that you are going to be a 100% inside cat! No arguments! I cannot risk them being eaten by some beast, or run over by cars. Gypsy never had any interest whatsoever to ever be outside. He was completely content in the house, always in the humans’ business, especially mine. He had a nervous breakdown when I was behind any closed door – he was my shadow, constantly. He wanted to be where I was and have me in his full sight. In his old days, he would pick the most strategic point in the room so he can watch me no matter where I was headed from just one spot. His big yellow eyes (they turned from blue to yellow when he matured) would follow me around like laser beams. He loved to nap with me, and sit with me as I typed on my laptop. He slept under my desk, when I worked … His eyes were intelligent and intent in everything that had to do with me. We had a bonding like I never had with any other being. This was our life for 18 years. We read together, napped together, put up the Christmas tree together, ate lunch at the kitchen island together …

Gypsy was the only one of our cats that traveled to Utah, and then made the trip back to the North Carolina woods where he was born. He came back across the country as a 16 and a half old cat, and he did superbly during that journey: sleeping all day in his carrier in the back seat of my Corolla, and sleeping at night in our camper, when we’d camp at KOAs across The Land. He never complained. He always felt safe with us, and I hope, always loved. He was.

In the two years that we have been back in NC, he has slowed down a lot. He has outlived all the cats and dogs in our families and extended network of friends. But, life took its toll and his kidney disease advanced, and he started crying incessantly again, just like when he was a kitten. His piercing meow could wake up the dead, really! You’d never know that a creature weighing only 7 pounds (or not even one when he was a kitten) could be so loud. But that voice is what saved his life.

His big voice, bright eyes, curious nature, soft as silk coat, beautiful, picture-perfect profile will stay with us forever … He was in truth my dreamed-about, picture-perfect black cat, just like I wished all those years ago. And he did show the world that a black cat can be gentle and kind and loving and sweet, as well as mischievous and naughty ... 

I am not sure how I can now move on without any kitties in the house. I really don’t know how to function with no bowls to clean, no stop in the litter aisle at the store, no special blankets around the house … no one to snuggle with when I nap in the afternoon, no purring as I fall asleep … Gypsy was my go-to kitty for all the naps I have had in the past 18 years. Fero almost never slept! And Little Kitty was way too independent to be anyone’s cat … But Gypsy was my mirror. My soul-mate, the answer to my prayer. Just like I wanted him before he ever happened under my house, I want him now, and will want him always …

Life, of course, is never endless … He was called to the other side to maybe make other souls as happy as he’s made us.

We’ll miss you more than you know, little guy. We’ll mourn and ache for you for a long, long time, and we pray that you’ll forgive us one day for not holding your paw when you crossed that bridge. We were, and I know you knew – but just not in person. Sleep well, and wander free – enchant other worlds as you so plentifully did ours.

With a bleeding, aching heart, your momma loves you, and Mr. Aa., too …

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! 

Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day Four– Little Rock, AR. Trees! Trees! Trees!

This is the fifth entry of a multi-entry series.

• First installment: On the Road Again: Going East Intro (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/on-road-again-going-east-intro.html)
• Second installment: Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day One – Moab, UT. Red Rocks (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/eastward-bound-ut-to-nc-day-one-moab-ut.html)
• Third installment: Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day Two – Albuquerque, NM. High and Winding Roads (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/eastward-bound-ut-to-nc-day-two.html) 
• Fourth installment: Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day Three – Elk City, OK. Get Your Kicks on ... the Windy High Plains (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/eastward-bound-ut-to-nc-day-three-elk.html) 

If Western Oklahoma is windy and red-yellow-sandy, Western Oklahoma is lush green and full of trees! Almost no wind, either. I suppose because of the trees. One of the reasons we're moving back to The South is vegetation. We both love the desert, and we agree it has its beauty. However, the stark nakedness of it makes you miss the green after a while. 

After several days of driving through the mountainous deserts of Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico, and the semi-desert of Western Oklahoma, we finally saw much longed trees today, almost the entire way into Arkansas, except for the first couple of hours of driving through Oklahoma. 

While in the dry, naked Oklahoma, we saw skies of menace which reminded us of Kansas seven years ago, when driving towards Utah. Tornado skies are something else - menacing is an understatement. They are a universe all of their own selves. The little lady at a gas station, sporting a Michigan sweatshirt, congratulated us for getting out of there "before the storm and the gusts start". We were grateful, too. A car is an evil thing to manage when the wind pulls it all directions. 

Like a patchwork of American history, Oklahoma is home to many Native tribes. Today we passed through the homes of many Native Nations: Chickasaw, Kickapoo, Seminole, Muskogee (Creek). This is always a rare treat to me, as this, to me, is the real America. It makes me respectful and so grateful that they share their land with us. 

As we approached the Eastern states, even starting yesterday, the weather has gotten warmer and warmer and more and more humid. It's strange that most of the trees in Arkansas and for the most part in Oklahoma, too, have not even turned colors yet – it's past the middle of October. When is the fall starting here?!

Today, for the first time, I heard cicadas when we pulled in for the night in the Little Rock, AR KOA campground. Such a familiar and long missed sound. So soothing to me … For the first time today, we also turned on the A/C in the camper, instead of the heater. Yay – we're in the South! Not our South yet, but it counts.

Driving today was harder than any other day, and not sure why. The altitude has gotten lower and lower and the wind died down eventually towards the end of the day, but the day seemed longer and dragging …

I was so excited to come through Arkansas, the home state of one of my favorite US Presidents (and he is not Republican!). And I was so shocked that even after being through Texas, Arkansas was the first state on this trip to sport a bigger than life "Trump - Make America Great Again" billboard. I was so disappointed, I did not even take a picture. Some things are better to remain uncaptured. 

I always thought Arkansas is a poor state. But looking at the lush green highways that remind you of the Rhine Valley, you would not know it. Stepping inside of one of the communities, with broken roads, and missing street signs, with poor gas stations almost cracking from age and humidity, with leaky appliances and toothless attendants remind you that you thought right. People are ever so nice, though, and such nice, yielding drivers, too

Some camping notes: we see people from all over the country in all these KOAs we're staying at. Seems like mostly older, retired people and all states are represented. KOA campgrounds are magical places – you have running water and electricity just like you would at home. It's such a treat. Thus, the A/C tonight. Hot shower in our own private shower, every morning, night lights and a place to charge all our electronics are some of the luxuries. I sometimes (only sometimes) I get how people can be into the whole tiny living thing. We really are missing very little. Well, besides space, of course.

Gypsy-the-Cat has gotten to have his own routine. He sleeps during our drive in his kennel in my car, and he comes out to the camper for lunch (midway during the day), then goes back to snoozing for the remainder of the drive. He mostly sleeps and eats at night. We found out that even if the litter doesn't smell to us at all, the ammonia in the litter can set off the carbon monoxide sensor in the camper (which is 2 feet away from his litter box). Who knew?!

We also found out that although KOAs may say "full hookups", sometimes, they run out of water. But we have had our emergency supply handy, so we were good. Our neighbors, not so much. 

We're two full days away from our final destination, but having gotten four of the days behind us feels great, albeit incredibly tiring. I do believe we will take the first day we get to North Carolina to just sleep it off … But who knows … “miles to go before I sleep” yet. 

The dark skies before the Oklahoma storm 

On the Western (windy and barren) side of Oklahoma, all trees have this shape, because the winds twists them so 

If I had a dollar for every truck, billboard, sign I have seen through Oklahoma announcing that this is the land of American beef ... I would make it out OK, I think ... 

Oklahoma City skyline. All I could think about driving by it was "The Oklahoma City bomber" 

After a looonggg drive for days through the desert of many states we came to this, largest body of water we had seen for a while. I chuckled when I saw the name of the road right past it: it was Lotawatah Road. And this is a true story! 

Arkansas is like a perpetual park: I have never seen so many National Parks, National Monuments, State Parks one after another within a short distance like in Arkansas

I could not get enough of these trees! 

I never understood this American staple: this is a water park with a giant water slide. They are always, no matter what state, right over the very busy highways! Why some architects deem them picturesque and delightful right next to rush hour traffic is beyond my understanding! 

Bridge over the highway in Oklahoma City

What is the first sandwich I make when I get to my camp site in Little Rock, AR with cicadas chanting outside and dripping sweat from too much humidity?! Why, a tomato sandwich, of course. Yes, I am home. Let The South begin! 

The Inconspicuous Cat

About 15 years ago, almost to the date, he was caged at PetLand in Greensboro, NC, at Friendly Shopping Center. He was “up for adoption”, for a small fee of $150. I asked the shop clerk “how much did he cost” and he corrected me that “he is not for sale. But he is up for adoption, for $150”. He was ugly, if I have ever seen such a thing as an ugly cat, skinny and had big, ears, full of mites. His eyes were sleepy. He had gorgeous orange tabby markings with not a speck of white or other colors in it. He was a true tabby. A true redhead! In more ways than one. 

I could tell he was making an extra effort to sit as close to the middle of the cage, so kids who were poking their skinny fingers to touch him won’t reach him. I told myself: he will never get adopted! He is too ugly and he is too old to be a kitten. Not old enough to be quite a cat. And he looked angry. Annoyed with all the kids’ poking. No one would see a “family cat” in him, I told myself, as I walked out of the place with my cat food in hand, and I sighed. 

I went home and told my then husband about him. We had $300 in the bank and the mortgage of $750 due in a week. 

Two days later, a Saturday, sometime in the fall, my husband and my then step kids showed up at the door with him in their hands. The ugly kitten, all mites, bones and ever so soft orange fur was now ours – our second kitty, after his bigger brother, Fero.

My first reaction was “We cannot afford HIM! We cannot afford the mortgage this month and you go out and buy a CAT????”. My husband said: “OK, fine, he has a 48 hour warranty, I am going to return him! Give him back”. 

I had him in my hands, and he was scratching and hissing and angry. All claws out and clinging onto my skin for dear life! I said: “NO WAY! He has been through enough already! We’ll love him up to be beautiful!” And the rest, really, is history! 

He never did get a real name. Fero was Fero, and the “little kitty” we just got became Little Kitty. And on his vet certificate, he is still Little Kitty. Not just Kitty, but “Little Kitty”.  

If God went out to design a perfect mold for a kitty, He must have fit my Little Kitty in it. He was the softest cat I have ever touched. The cleanest. The quietest. Like any cat, he was fiercely independent and stubborn. He liked company on his terms and he made those terms very clear! By biting, and scratching and hissing. You always knew his boundaries. And he only had to tell you about them once. 

He was my one true hunter cat! When I lived in a house in the woods of Summerfield, NC, we had mice. He caught them every time they’d dare wander through my kitchen, and would bring them to bed, in the middle of the night, in his mouth, to show me his catch! He was upset when we killed the mouse. It was his pray to kill, so understandable. 

He sneezed, occasionally, because he was allergic to clay, I found. He was even allergic to almost every brand of litter except two! I tried using clay bowls for his food – not a good idea! His nose would get as red as Rudolph’s and it would drip and drip, as he sneezed with all of his body. 

He always let Fero be the alpha cat, and always protected the baby cat, Gypsy. He was stoic, devoted to all his duties and respectful of everyone’s space, as long as they respected his.  

For years, I lived alone, after my divorce. We were all a team, me and the three kitties. I clipped the nails of the other two cats, but I could never do it by myself to him. He was impossible to pill or to put in the cat carrier singlehandedly. It was always a two people’s job. I figured, he was feral for a while, before he ended up at PetLand. You could tell, he did not trust people. 

He slept with me, for years. But always at the foot of the bed. Just enough to be close but not enough close where I could touch him. In true cat fashion, he spited me: with a name like Little Kitty, he grew to be the largest cat I have ever been owned by. 

 

A very rare sight: Little Kitty bonding with my sister. She was amongst the very few who "got him". And he, her.

Just like I promised him on his first day with me, I loved him up, I think, to be beautiful. Even gorgeous. He still had dreamy eyes and a serious look, all of his life, but the mites went away, and he filled into his large ears and paws.

He never once, that I can remember, got in trouble! He never broke anything, always groomed religiously, his breath never smelled. His moves were ever so calculated and slow, just like a tiger, which gained his nickname in his later life of Richard Parker, the tiger in Life of Pi. He was my tiger. Or “pumpkin”. Or “pinkie”, because of his pink paw pads. Because of his serious allure, he became “Mr. Kitty” to my now husband. And lived up to that name. He always kept a low profile. He ate the longest, because he always took his time, with everything. He was a typical middle child!

Just like with all my cats, we built a whole life together. Some people tell me that 15 years is “old” for a cat. To me, 100 would not be enough! We had to say ‘good bye’ to Mr. Kitty tonight. Just as quietly as he slipped into my life, he slipped away, on his own, after a two month heroic battle with kidney failure (I swear Utah water is killing my cats!). He was 15 and 5 months today. 

I’ll miss so much about him! His constant presence just beside me. His long grooming sessions, his lazy an watchful swagger down the stairs, swinging his fat belly left to right, while sheepishly glancing over his left shoulder to make sure I am following him. His quiet meow. His habit of “rearranging” my coasters: he would knock them on the floor, from the table or the arm rest of the couch. We never quite figured out why just the coasters. 

I hope kitties go to heaven and this way he can meet his brother, Fero, and compare matching bracelets of shaved fur on their paws, from the IVs they got for their kidney diseases. I hope he runs free, with no one chasing him down to clip his claws. I hope he makes someone as happy as he’s made us, and as fulfilled. 

He never asked for much. Not even for attention. A bowl of food, a clean litter box, a bowl of water, and a window with fresh air where he could watch birds, squirrels and cars.

I’ll miss his presence the most. To me, he was the ultimate symbol of coming home.

He ended up being so much more than a kitty with no name. 

Rest in peace, Little Man! We ache and cry and hope you make another world as happy as you made ours! 

Little Kitty:

 May 15, 1999 - October 15, 2014