Your Cat Had A Good Life

Little T was a cat somebody loved. A pretty cat, spayed and declawed. Not the type of cat an owner lets out of the house.

Maybe something frightened her, and she got loose. Maybe something else happened to her.

Whatever her situation, she was delivered to the Burnsville Humane Society as a stray. There she stayed until the day she came home with me—fearless, and annoyed at being packed into a little box. After examining every room top to bottom, she sat down in the center of the house and let out the loudest “MEOOOW!” I’d ever heard.

Easily translated. She said, “I have a home!”

It didn’t take us long to become fast friends. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that overnight, I, a former dog lover, became a doting cat person. Little T settled in as royal leader.

As a cat person, I naturally bought cat toys every time I went out. She had toys from the Shakopee Autumn Festival, MN State Fair, and Renaissance Festival. She had a six-foot tall, carpeted cat tree, and adored shiny, fast-moving glitter poms. An excellent soccer player, she seldom lost.

And we had adventures! One night we woke to the sound of something running around the bedroom. As we peered over the edge of the bed in the dim light, I told her to get after it. She replied with an emphatic, “No way! You get after it!” Eventually, we noticed the new humidifier by the bed made occasional gurgling noises. It sounded remarkably like the patter of tiny vermin feet streaking across the floor.

Years passed, deepening the bond between us. She ate the best foods, played with the coolest toys, and had a princess bed with a window view full of birds, squirrels and rabbits.

One day she became sick, prowling the house and meowing miserably. Sleepless, she lay by her bowl lapping up massive quantities of water. I took her to the vet. The diagnosis was diabetes. The fix was twice daily injections.

I asked how that worked, uncertain I could do it. They gave me a lesson and sent us home with syringes and insulin.

For T-Cat, I learned to give those injections. With medicine, delicious low-grain canned food, and ice cubes in her water to encourage drinking, her recovery was remarkable.

For another year we continued our fond relationship. But with the inevitable passage of time, she grew older. More frail. One day all too soon, it was time to say goodbye. It was as gentle and loving as I could make it. Diabetic, with arthritis in her hips and her soccer days long past, she sank into relief and was gone.

It’s taken me two years to be able to write this letter. I’m sorry for whatever mishap befell your cat. But she was so lucky, and I wanted to let you know she found a loving home and a long, wonderful life. I think you would have approved.