Precious and Fragile Things

I knew it was coming. As I said the other night (possibly filtered, don't know), Prissy had been slowing down over the last month or so. This past week she'd been sleeping more, though she was still eating and drinking (and fussing at me). Last night, she got up to get water and eat a little food, and then she went to lie back down and she let out this one brief yowl and I knew something happened. She still got up to get more water and eat, but there was just something different about her.

She slipped away this afternoon while I was out of the house. When I left, she was sleeping peacefully and purred a little when I petted her. I was planning to take her to a vet tomorrow (Monday) because I knew it was nearing the end as she spent all day today sleeping.

She was and always will be Dad's cat. I've only been taking care of her for the past almost three years until she was ready to go see him again. That sounds maudlin and probably silly to the atheists out there, but for my spiritual side it makes sense. She was there with him when he died, not leaving his side until they came to get his body.

I haven't cried yet. I will at some point this week when it hits me that she's not here. She's been part of my family since I was in middle school and I can't explain how great she was for Dad after he was forced to go on disability and later divorced Mom. It was always kind of like entering a bizarro dimension to see this tough ex-Marine who supposedly hated pets always fret over her and talk to her all the time. Whenever I went over to see him, there was inevitably a new story that began with, "Guess what Prissy did to me now," or "Prissy is mad because I didn't get up this morning to turn up the thermostat." (True story.) I noticed since moving here to North Carolina, that whenever I'd come home to Prissy fussing at me, I'd talk to her like he used to.

I don't know where she spent the first year or so of her life. I know we adopted her after some kind soul brought her into the vet's office after finding her at the lake with a fish hook in her upper lip. Their hope was that someone would take her in and give her a good home. I'd say for 16 or 17 years, she had a long haul. Prissy was the name Mom picked out for her, and she really lived up to it.

Anyway, enough rambling. I'll probably cry tomorrow or Wednesday. Kiddo didn't cry when I told him, but that was because I could tell he was fighting it. He's upset, he just doesn't want to show it (probably because I'm not yet). Going to call the landlord in the morning to ask where we might be able to bury her (it was already dark when we got home, so it's not possible to go out there tonight with the bears and the coyotes).

Usually, Jack and Prissy ignore one another, or Jack "attacks" Prissy to try and get her to play with him since he's still a very young kitty (only about 1.5 years compared to Prissy's 16/17 years), but over Thanksgiving Break, they called a temporary peace in order to share in a box I had sitting on the table. Oddly enough, Jack was in it first and Prissy approached him with this "Move over" glare, and thus I grabbed the camera.

I'd forgotten about it until today when a cutesy post elsewhere reminded me of it. I thought I'd share.

A while back, I had two dogs beds since before I had Sasha, there was Zoe and Penny. Well, the beds had removeable machine-washable covers, and when Sasha was about four or five months old and in her chewing phase, I took the covers off to wash them. Sasha tore one of the beds while the cover was off and got the stuffing everywhere. The bed had to be tossed out, and from then on she and Penny had one bed to share between them.

Today, I happened to see a nice bed that was big enough for both dogs at Wal-Mart and opted to bring it home. I set the bed down next to the old bed, which is where Penny was laying. Not two minutes after I put it down, Prissy the cat ran over to the bed and promptly laid down on it, claiming it for her own. Keep in mind this bed is big enough for Sasha, who at this point weighs fifty or more pounds. Prissy can sit on my shoulder and weighs less than ten pounds. That's a whole lot of bed for a cat her size.

The funniest part about the whole thing is that neither of the dogs challenged this. Penny continued to snooze less than a foot away on the old bed, only giving Prissy a casual glance while Sasha took one look at her and flopped down on the floor to enjoy the rawhide bone I got for her. Yes, they know their place.

It's been about an hour since I first put the bed down. Penny has spent about two minutes on the bed, but as soon as she got up, Prissy reclaimed it and is now resting peacefully on it while Sasha has curled up on the old bed. Penny has moved to the floor next to Sasha. (I'm trying to get a picture of this, but Sasha hears it when I turn on the camera and gets excited and runs up to me.)

I forsee myself purchasing a small cat bed just for Prissy. I also forsee that this will probably do nothing to change the fact that she has proclaimed herself queen of the big fluffy bed.

Though I do have to say I am very happy that the dogs and the cat can lay literally inches from one another without causing an incident.