Yesterday, my beloved companion, Calico, passed away in my
arms at the age of 18. She was the
sweetest kitty in the entire world, and I want to tell you about her.
Calico came to us in 1997, after the death of Ginger, my cat
who was 17 when we had to say goodbye to her.
First in the house was Lexie, who passed away on the 5th of
July. Then was Shelby,
our brown tabby. But six months later,
with both cats occupying spots in my family’s hearts, I felt as if I still did
not have a friend to call my own. So
back to the Humane Society I went.
There, I saw this sweet kitty, mostly white, with pastel
calico markings. She was sick. She had been spayed, and her incision was
infected. She also had fleas and ear
mites. Her name was Patches. Knowing that I had a dog at home, and two
other cats, I adopted her and took her straight to the vet. I told them to get her well and I would come
to see her every day. When they asked me
her name, I said “Calico”. We considered
other names, but Calico seemed to fit her perfectly. As promised, I came to the vet every day,
bringing with me a treat or some food, a toy to play with, and a brush for her
hair. Every time I saw her, she purred
and I knew that I finally had my companion friend.
Calico recovered from her infection and came home with
me. Lexie and Shelby were getting along
famously, but Calico threw a monkey wrench into it, and from that point on,
things didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped.
All three cats wanted a spot on our bed.
Calico won. She had a mind of her
own and determined that she would like to drink out of the glass of water that
I always had on my nightstand. She also
liked to drink water straight from the faucet, and would wait for me to turn it
on so she could lap it up. It was the
funniest thing in the world when a friend of mine would house sit and my
instructions to her included leaving the water trickling in the bathroom sink
for the cat. It became necessary for me
to leave a little cup of water in the sink for Calico every night. She would drink what she wanted, and then she
would push the cup off the counter onto the floor, making a mess. It became a game to her, so I decided to play
along, but to make it so that I wouldn’t have to clean anything up, by putting
the cup in the sink. Calico loved it and
so did I.
Calico acquired many nicknames over her lifetime. She was Cali,
Calipuss, Kittypuss, Kittyco, Duchess Cat and Growlico (for her habit of
growling at the dog). She responded to
every name as if she always had them.
She developed many habits that we became accustomed to such as, waiting
for us to open a door for her as if to say “You may open this door for me now,
Human”. Or she would start pawing on the
door to get us to open it. I had to
wonder if this was a magical thing for her because every time she pawed at the
door, the door magically opened. Then
she would look up and give us that little squeak of hers “me-eeh-eeh”. Yes, Calico, you may come in.
Every time I pet her, Calico would purr. In the last few months, she would come to me
for combing every night. I would comb
out the fleas, treat her ears, treat her eyes and pet her until *I* had finally
had enough. SHE never had enough love or
attention. In the last week, she didn’t
come to me as she did before. I had to
go find her to give her the combing. I
noticed how frail she was becoming, and realized that her kidneys were probably
failing. She was getting painfully thin
and I tried everything I knew to get her to eat. In the last couple of days, she stopped
eating completely, and the only thing she would eat was a little chicken noodle
soup. I was grateful that she was eating
and for the first time in days, I smiled.
It didn’t last long, however. Cali
stopped eating again, and she didn’t eat again.
She still loved her ice water until the last day of her life, when I had
to give her water by eye dropper. I knew
her time was coming soon, and I guess I just didn’t want to let her go, just
like she didn’t want to leave me. She
fought hard to stay with me, even up to the moment of her crossing. And I am heartbroken. I will never see her beautiful face again,
and never be able to touch her soft fur.
She had the softest fur of any pet I’d ever had. Maybe it was because I combed her, but I
don’t think so. I think her softness was
what made her what she was. She was my
Princess. She was my Duchess. And she was my Daughter. She owned me, and I’d do it all again
gladly. I will never ever forget
her. She was my baby, and I was her Mama.
I will always love you, Calico.
Mommy
