Dixie Lily, my grumpy little calico, is gone, two days after her 18th birthday.
I brought her home 2 weeks after her birth, snatching her from the future psychopaths who were torturing her. They were throwing her in the air and trying to hit her little kitty body with rocks before she fell, uncaught on the asphalt street.
I brought her home 2 weeks after her birth, snatching her from the future psychopaths who were torturing her. They were throwing her in the air and trying to hit her little kitty body with rocks before she fell, uncaught on the asphalt street.
Though she lived a long life in comfort, she never forgave the strange two-legged species who gave her her horrible start in life. She complained, right up to the end, whenever we touched her and if her food was late. And there must have been a cat present at her stoning because she hated other cats but loved the attention of the dogs.
This morning, she took her breakfast, same as always - "just the gravy from a packet of food, please. I'll have some dry food later" - then returned to the warmth of the driveway for a nap.
And that's where we found her when we came home. A nice peaceful end to make up for her violent beginning. She is buried next to Cyrano, our sweet black stub-tailed kitty. We miss them both.
