Pensive

 

Someone commented that they liked the name Color. When she was a kitten, her colors were so vibrant and so many, that seemed a logical name for her. After her experience with the paint and her venture into the outside world, we didn't have to worry too much about her straying very far again.

It's amazing how an animal becomes so much a part of one's life. Ourdaughter graduated and went off to college, and whenever she came home, Color was glad to see her. The same with David. He wasn't as permissive with her as the rest of us. However, Color loved to rub her face against his big feet. On occasion, she would take a sniff of his sneakers and walk away with her mouth open, as if to say, "Boy, those shoes stink."

After I retired from the school board and was home during the day, she said, "Now I've got you where I want you." My lap became her resting place. I loved the excuse of not being able to get up.

On April 30, 2002, the day that my husband went off to work and never came home again was, if you've read my other blogs, the most difficult day of my life. When you open the paper and read of the accident that took your husband's life, it is surreal. So often we read articles like that and think, "Oh, those poor people."
And then it's you.

Our house was filled with people that afternoon and evening. Color didn't know what to think. She had never been fond of a lot of people. Family was o.k., but other than that, she'd rather not.

After everyone had left that evening, I went upstairs to do some e-mailing, and Color was lying at the to of the stairs. I finished and went to my room, and she came down and lay near the door. A mournful cry began. I got up to see what was wrong, and she was lying there twitching, her eyes crossed, her tongue hanging out. I thought for sure that she was dying, and I think I said out loud, "Go ahead and die tonight. At least it won't hurt so bad after everything that has happened today." I checked on her throughout the night, touched her, and each time she looked up at me. About five in the morning, I got up and took a shower. I hadn't slept anyway. When I looked for her, she wasn't there. She had gone downstairs.

She got better, and then six months to the day later, she had another spell like the one on April 30. The vet said she felt sure that she had hepatic encephalopathy. A couple of years previous, we had done an ultrasound, and found that her liver was filled with cysts. The ultrasound is another story in itself.

The vet gave me some medicine for her, she got better and had no other spells, until finally last fall, she breathed her last.

After everyone else had gone, she had remained, and now she's gone...a wonderful friend and companion.