Dear sweet, lovable, crazy, Kali,
You came to me as a replacement cat to Caspian, who was a sickly fellow never meant to stay here long, but you, you Kali, were a pistol from day one.
Tracy and I brought you home from that terrible breeder, hoping we could finally save one cat from a terrible fate, and you livened up our lives immediately. You, a little fluff ball, ran all over the house, and came to settle below the window blinds, watching the cord sway back and forth, and when you opened your cute little mouth to speak, nothing came out.
Soon you made noises, but your 'meow' was never quite a 'meow' - always more like a squeak or a cackle. People always commented on it.
People also always commented on your stunning beauty. A Himalayan tortoiseshell, your flattened face and lioness mane often made a great conversation starter. Comments such as, "is that a cat?" and nicknames like, "fluff monger."
You moved about a million times with me: born in Napa, CA. Then onto San Mateo, San Francisco, Colorado Springs, Seattle, Napa (again), Sausalito, and finally back home to Seattle. One flight, and 2 cross-country moves, you sure knew how to see the sights.
10:15 PM used to known as "the be-Kali hour" (think: bewitching hour), since you would sleep all day long, barely raise your little head to, maybe, get a drink of water, only to rise like Lazarus at 10:15 at night to run holy terror through whichever apartment I was living in at the time. It's like you could sense I was trying to settle down for a night's sleep and you knew better. You'd pause the sprinting long enough to give me a look as if to say, "c'mon, lady, break out the cocktails and catnip and let's party!"
This past week you became so frail, so tiny, and for the first time in your 16-yr life you begged me to hold you. And I held you. Wrapped your tiny frame in my sweatshirt, listened to your labored breathing and hoped that this wasn't the end. But 16 years is a mighty good run, and it was the end.
Tonight my beloved pet Kali died in my arms with the loving assistance of our vet. I won't say where she's buried because I'm not entirely sure it's legal, but if you happen to see a fantasticly blooming magnolia tree next Spring may you pause a moment to remember the strange and unusual and sweet, sweet girl that was my friend.
I'll miss you, little lady.
