My oldest cat is named Sneakers. Her foster family called her that because she liked to hide in shoes.
When I first saw her, she was stretching herself awake, one little black head in the pile of her gray and white littermates. Everybody else had been adopted, except for her.
From the first time I held her, stroking her with one finger between her ears, she was mine. I had to wait a week for her spaying. We took her home with her sutures still in place.
When she was still a kitten, we called her the seagull because she had a very demanding voice. She was polite to the elder cats in the house, but she had definite opinions about how she would be treated.
When she was about a year old, she took a bad fall, sustaining a hairline fracture of her hard palate. Fortunately she recovered after an overnight stay with the vet.
When we took in two strays, she mothered them: washing their heads, teaching them how to get up on the counter, and showing them how to play.
She’s 20 years old.
She won’t make it to 21.
Rachel
I'm a writer, a knitter/spinner/weaver, a young stroke survivor, and a type 2 diabetic.
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I’m sorry to hear about Sneakers. We’ve lost our share of pets and understand the loss will be hard on several levels.
Thank you.
Thank you for writing this! It’s so hard when we lose our pets. It sounds like Sneakers had a wonderful life with you. Hugs for you as you’re going through this.
Thank you. She’s not gone yet, but we have a followup vet visit Monday, so we’ll be talking about things then.
So sorry to hear about Sneakers. Give her an extra petting/scritch/cuddle for me…
Thank you. She’s a cranky ol’ broad but that’s why I love her.
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