Sylvester

Hey Syllie,

It was sudden for us, you turning sick on Sunday. We took you to the vet on Tuesday. She said something was wrong with your kidneys and that we should bring you back on Thursday for tests.

Thursday morning, you were admitted with severe dehydration (10% of the normal required fluid levels), so the vet said she'd feed you and put you on the drip so she could do the tests the next day. We stopped by to check on you before they closed, since you aren't used to being away from the family.

You looked better.

I was the last one to pet you and after giving me one long look, you set down your head and closed your eyes for a nap. An hour after we went home, we got the call that you'd died.

I think you waited for us to come. You looked better because you were glad to see us one last time. I think you knew you were going to die, but didn't want to show us. And I think when you went for that nap, you knew you wouldn't wake up. But you felt better drifting off with us there. Having seen us.

And if you think I'm being stupid and sentimental, you might be right. But then, you don't know what a remarkable cat you were. How you touched each of our lives. Or maybe you did, but just didn't really pay attention to the fact.

After my brother's previous cat had been killed by a car, my mom went to the animal shelter to get him a kitten, since he'd been distraught for weeks. There were three kittens in the cage one day. One was cute, one was beautiful, and one was this scrawny, ugly little spotted thing that didn't look like it'd live long.

My mom, being the soft touch, took the two healthy kittens and walked away, only to be stopped by a bang against the cage's wire. It was you, Syllie, trying to get out and follow her, refusing to be left behind. So she took you home as well. And you and my brother fell in love.

You were devoted to us in general and him in particular, always going out when we did, doing who know's what. Somehow, you always always by the front door when we returned. You just knew when we were coming back.

Remember when you were still a scrawny kitten, dogs slipped into the room where we kept you, your brother and your sister? Luckily my grandmother heard the ensuing drama and saved the three of you. When you were big enough to live with the dogs, you started a reign of terror by beating them up for the smallest transgression. They never chased you again. Not even Ben.

You always demanded rather than requested anything, as was your right as household cat. And you refused to show affection in public. Always in private (and lots of it). The only exception to this was yesterday when you said good bye.

So for the eight short years you were with us, you supplied plenty of entertainment, stolen cuddles and kitty attitude. And every time I come home now, I find myself glancing to the spot where you awaited our many returns.

I know, Syllie, that wherever you are (which is probably on a bed of nails, because pillows and fluff never were your style) you're counting down the days until you have to meet each of us at the pearly dates. Because (regardless of what the dogs may think) I fully expect to see you there, walking up ahead of St. Pete, mowling at me for taking so long to come home.

Thank you for being part of our lives.

Love you, Syllie.

Misha (Slave 3)