Our new cat, Gracie, all but ignores her name. When I call her she flicks those outsized ears then turns her head away, determined not to answer to this construct of human language.
Studly Doright calls her Pretty Girl. She doesn’t answer to that either. After watching her make thirty-nine non-stop trips around the island in our kitchen, I began referring to her as Crazy Gracie. Still no reaction.
I wonder if she has a name she likes better? She meows conversationally all the time. Maybe she’s trying to tell me her real name.
Oh, occasionally she makes a sound that sounds very much like a bark. Studly thought I was imagining things until he heard it, too. Maybe she’s a German Shepherd trapped in a cat’s body. I could try calling her Heidi or perhaps Gretchen.
Until she provides additional information, she’ll just be Gracie. I know she calls me “Meow, meow?” I answer to it every time.
We are missing our Scout, but my blogging friend at Savoring Sixty and Beyond savoringsixty.com reminded me of this A.A. Milne quote.
We really were so lucky to have known this special cat who never met a stranger. If you were a guest in our home, you were a recipient of her affections.
She enjoyed playing endless games of fetch. Her favorite activity was “helping” me make the bed, making that activity last at least twice as long as was necessary.
She felt she needed to be present when either David or I took a shower, and she loved being wrapped up in a towel. She danced with me and gave me kitty kisses. For much of her life she thought my left ear was something to suckle on. Even after she’d outgrown that need to nurse, every now and then she’d nudge my earlobe as if to say, “Remember, Mommy?” She loved to lay across my neck and massage my shoulders. Her purrs were epic.
Studly Doright was the recipient of many head butts (aka, kitty kisses). Scout had to help him any time his computer was being used. She often made him choose between her and work. He always chose her. During Hurricane Michael, when I was in Texas, she kept Studly company. The two of them patrolled the grounds, watching trees fall and hunkering down like good Floridians. She slept beside him while I was gone.
She adored her stuffed toys: mice, birds, candy canes, small bears, catnip pillows. But her favorite toy was a stick with feathers on the end. She loved “feathers” as we called it at one time. Over the years, the feathers fell out. Then we called it “feather” until finally, when every feather was gone, we just called it “stick”. She still loved it and up until her last couple of weeks of life Scout would bring “stick” to us for play time.
The day before she died she insisted on going out on the screened-in porch. She’d refused food for more than 24 hours, and could barely walk, but still she wanted to go out one last time to enjoy her favorite place. I’m certain she was remembering all of the lizards she’d chased in her lifetime.
And her last morning on earth, she found the strength to join Studly as he finished his shower. “See, Daddy, I remembered.”
We will miss this sweet kitty for the rest of our lives, but we were so lucky to have known her.
This morning we said our final goodbyes to our beloved cat, Scout. She had been struggling for several days, and after many tears we decided to let her go. I’m a mess, so that’s all for now. Peace, people.
She’s nearing the age of 17, this old cat. Until recently she was as playful as a kitten, sure-footed, and ready to attack any rebellious stuffed mouse that came her way.
Nowadays, her steps are halting. She stumbles now and then and her toys are neglected. The saddest thing is, she doesn’t enjoy snuggling much anymore, preferring the cool tile of the bathtub surround to our warm laps. Sometimes I think she’s ready to move on, and selfishly I keep her here.
She’s still my baby, this old cat. I give her whatever she asks for no matter when she asks for it. She wants to eat six times a day? Fine. She wants to eat at three a.m.? No problem. Anything for my Scout.
Today is the 44th anniversary of the day Studly Doright and I said our vows in front of friends and family members at a small Baptist church in Dumas, Texas.
I’ve had his gift for several weeks and will give it to him tonight. This morning, though, I was curious as to what the prescribed gift for the 44th anniversary might be. Maybe, I thought, I’d pick up something that fit the bill in addition to what I’d already bought.
Imagine my surprise when I realized I’ve been celebrating our 44th anniversary nearly every day since we said “I do!”
I should start saving up for next year right now, though. Probably can’t get a sapphire at the Publix store on N. Monroe, either.