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I'm pretty sure no one reads these things, but it's someplace to get things out of my head. It's been a rough couple of days here and confusing.

My baby kitty died. crying She wasn't actually a baby - she was less than 10 years old; I don't really know how old she was because she was a tiny, tiny kitty and she had been picked up in a feral round-up. The folks who did the round-up assumed that she was about a year old because she was bigger than a kitten, but not big enough to be a full grown cat. She never got any bigger. For her entire life, she fit on my arm, her little tiny hind feet tucked into my hand, her little front paws laying on my inner forearm. She would sit that way on my arm when I was at the big computer, purring so loud that you could hear her in the hall.

She had an industrial sized purr. Pretty funny for a kitty as tiny as she. When I got her, she had been in a tiny cage at the local PetSmart for over a month. I thought she was a black cat. The card on her cage said that she had been found in a feral round-up. It said that she had been fostered in a house with kids and other cats. It said that she liked to be petted, but she absolutely hated to be held. And it gave her name as Mugly. As if someone had looked at her and decided that precious little face was ugly. The girl minding that section said that she (my cat) had never let any of them hold her, that when they put her in the room for playtime, she would squirm and twist until they put her down. I asked if she would open the cage and let me pet her. She would and she did. When she opened that cage, Mischief walked right out of it onto my arm and settled down, purring for all she was worth. heart heart heart Just sat there, like Dr. Evil's cat. The girl said she had never seen her do that with anyone else since she had been in her care. How could I not take her?

It took a couple weeks to get the parents to say okay to bringing another cat into the house - we had three already and Mum had lost her beloved 15-year-old Burmese kitty not a month before. I had Mum take me out to get the forms to fill out and for Mum to meet Mischief. (I refused to ever call her Mugly). She liked Mum, but she was definitely my kitty. Daddy was harder to convince. He'd just been through the emotional wringer with Mum losing her familiar and he just didn't want any more cats in the house. Losing them was emotionally draining.

Each time I took someone with me to see her, and to make sure no one else had taken her, Mischief would repeat the same open door, step into my arms move. The last time, the time I came to take her home, they opened the cage and she smacked me, as if to say, "Quit playing with my hopes, girl!" I picked her up and put her on my arm and we walked away into the store together. She was never in that cage again. She was so happy to be free.

When I got her home, I petted her a lot. So much so that my black kitty started having colour show up on her fur. I got a brush and set to work. Because she had been in that cage so long, with no one petting her or brushing her, she had a build-up of fur. As I brushed, a beautiful tortoise-shell cat emerged. She had beautiful gold eyes. And on her fur, beautiful gold spots shone out, tufts of white peeked out, caramel browns. And a ruff of white around her neck, like a necklace had been placed there. She had adorable pink toes with pots of colour on them, the back of her heels were gold - it looks like she was wearing high-heels every time she walked past you. She was the most beautiful cat ever.

And she had attitude. When Mum's Burmese died, she had been the alpha cat. All the other cats knew she was in charge. When she died, that left the big white boy cat as the oldest, except for Toby who was older, but who came into the house as a stray and thus lower on the cat order. Specter was becoming a mean old man. He would hiss and attack Toby and push his weigh, which was considerable, around with Vi's cat Rogue. He was mean and no one knew why - he had been very sweet and gentle as a younger cat. It was as if he resented any other cat.

So, here I am, bringing in this tiny little tortie into "his" domain. I put down her carrier, opened the door and out she popped. She meets the other two kittys, Toby and Rogue. And then up rushes Specter. He gets like eight inches into her face and starts hissing and posturing. Is she scared, intimidated? Not a bit. She plops herself down, stretches her back leg in the air and starts taking a bath, cool as you please. It was like watching one of those self-important people trying to deal with something that is completely out of their control. He was so upset. And at that moment, despite the fact that she was the newest member of the family, Mischief was top cat, Queen of the pride.

I thought she was getting better. I really did. Vi and I were giving her a bath after being at the vet (she hated being dirty) and she did this little ... twist. And then she started crying 'ow' We picked her up and got a towel around her and then Vi put her in my arms and I held her. And then she gave what we thought was a big sneeze. And then she just had this big seizure. She twisted and threw her body against me and cried and I didn't know what to do. What do you do for a seizure? I mean, I know how to deal with an epileptic seizure in a human, but a cat? it was so horrible, so helpless. How do you help something so tiny? I have never felt so helpless in my life And then... she was gone. She gave a huge sneeze, blood flew everywhere and foam came from her mouth and she was gone. Just.. gone. There was nothing left in her eyes. Just that fast.

I never want to feel so helpless again. I never want anything I love to suffer like that ever ever again. I want dignity for them. I want pain-free dignified deaths. No one deserves to die like that. No one. No one. And I never want another kitty. I don't think my heart could take breaking like this ever ever again.

Julian doesn't understand why I'm so upset. mad She was only an animal, after all. scream Say what??? She was a living breathing creature with thoughts and feelings and able to feel great pain. She brought smiles to my life and beauty and every time she sat on my arm or in my lap, I thought, 'take that, you person who said she doesn't want held or touched." Watching her play with my yarn stash - I've never seen a kitty actually play with a ball of yarn before - none of my Mum's ever played with balls of yarn. It was adorable watching her play with it, despite having to unwrap my entire room afterward. It was worth it to hear her trill of delight and to watch her so happy. Or when she would play with her stuff fuzzy present that I would keep tucked into a jar of catnip when she wasn't playing with it. Or how she would carry her bully-mouse (a big stuffed wool mouse with leather ears and eyes and tails) around with her all over the house, put it down, trill for a while and then just play the stuffings out of it. I've bought her so many bully mice over her time with me. So many bully mice, fur mice, tiny tinkling balls.

I miss her so much. I miss her sitting in my lap purring so loud that my mother would hear her in the kitchen. I miss seeing her 'skip' down the hall. I miss her little body curled up with me at night. I miss her curled up in my lap when I read. I miss her sitting on my arm while I'm trying to work on the computer. I miss hearing her trill and hearing her talking. I miss taking care of her, carrying her around with me,. I've tried to feed a non-existing kitty both mornings since she died. She is so much of my pattern of life that not feeding her first thing in the morning just stops me cold. It just is wrong.

The vet says that she might have hit her head or something when she fell. That she probably had neurological damage that he couldn't see. That he is sorry she was in pain at the end and that she died like that. <wry expression> Intellectually, I understand that. Emotionally, I don't know if I forgive him for not fixing her.

So. That's how my life is. Pretty empty and with a retarded fiance. I don't know if I can forgive him for that 'she's only an animal.' it seems like a pretty big flaw. If you cannot have empathy, sympathy for the smallest, weakest, dependent on us creature, how will you treat something bigger? Something about how you care for the least of us being an indicator of how you will care for the bigger.

crying