By Christy Doherty
I still see her at times.
Maybe it’s because she’s been part of the dappled sunlight on the grass for so long that her imprint remains.
Words won’t capture how I long to see her there again, napping, just being “her.”
I move from window to window these days, checking, hoping.
I stand at the kitchen window with a stiffness in my back where before there was only peace, looking out at the landscape that brought me joy.
One of the biggest reasons for that joy was really quite small. Her name was/is Miss Kitty.
She had a favored nap spot between a towering cedar and a vine maple. That favored place is empty.
And because that special place is so vacant, I’m noticing every leaf that twitches in the breeze, each nuanced parting of grass – anything, everything, and most painfully, the persistent nothing.
Miss Kitty has been missing now for more than a week. It’s 5:30 p.m. on Sunday. Her new toy, a replacement for one of the few items the semi-feral girl ever cared about, came in the mail last Monday, two days after she disappeared. It’s in the center of the front porch, waiting. A simple cardboard claw scratcher with a ball that zooms around a track bordering the edge. Her old one was worn out, beyond shredded, and she still loved to nap on it.
The new toy sat untouched until yesterday. Miss Kitty’s two littermate daughters were too distraught to notice it. Or maybe they didn’t give themselves permission to use it; that was supposed to be Mom’s toy. They paced, searching the forest fringe and property. When I called Miss Kitty’s name they ran to me, looking hopeful, as if I might know something.
The tiny pride of lions is sorely out of balance.
I can’t explain it. I’ve lost companion animals before, those who were close beside me. This girl was more distant, more feral, and yet she was a part of my every day almost since we moved into this house.
When she first arrived, rail thin, she tried to eat some corn-based used cat litter I was going to discard. Of course I had to feed this waif.
She remained so thin, even after being fed, that she delivered kittens before I had a clue. Once the mama and babies were all spayed/neutered, I asked about bringing them into the house. The answer was a firm NO. Soon their cardboard box on the covered porch gave way to an antique wicker bassinet, a cushy pad, and a heat light mounted above for when the weather turned.
I placed one of the kittens – Kitten Britches – in a loving home, but Miss Kitty and her two remaining daughters, Bubba Lou (originally Bubba) and Cooter Sue (originally Cooter), appeared to be destined to live together as a family for the rest of their days, having forgiven me for not getting their gender right at first.
Some days I feel a sense of Miss Kitty rise up within me, so powerful, so present, I expect her to walk into one of her favored spaces — spaces too long empty – and take a lazy nap as though no time has passed at all.
She was not tame.
But she was so good, so very good.
She left an imprint for her daughters to nap in, a safe harbor that feels like home, in the shape of Mom. That’s where they keep vigil now and watch for her return.
I believe she bought her daughters safety, and that cost her everything.
Tiny frame, mighty heart, a mother’s fierce courage.
Some would say it’s just a cat, but that would be so horribly wrong.
Miss Kitty, once known as Kitty Stray, was an unexpected kindness arriving on a wayfarer’s paws.
She came unbidden, starving, and she stayed.
There is a fragile hope in me, and I rehearse to myself stories of cats returning after long absences. But the weeks turned into months, and then into years.
And still, the memory of Miss Kitty blesses me.
Her daughters are now with her in the great beyond, and I miss them all. I’ve since fed the occasional feral who stops by, but no one else stayed.
Apparently Miss Kitty was indeed mine – and I’m so very grateful.
About the Author
I love writing from my home office, surrounded by trees and bordering timber company acreage. Deer return every year to share their fawns, and we occasionally all enjoy lemon Oreos together. Although I swore I’d never have an outdoor kitty again, Miss Kitty showed up and changed my mind. I’ve made that same promise to myself again, but we all know what would happen if another wayfarer found me. I’m rather
inclined to believe my Dad in the great hereafter offers my address to
any four-footers who need it.
I’ve been blessed to receive three Muse Medallions and a fourth Certificate of Excellence from the Cat Writers Association, which I absolutely treasure. I’ve also received seven Maxwell Awards from the Dog Writers Association of America, and numerous state and national awards from the National Federation of Press Women. I’m surprised and thrilled every time. Writing about companion animals and wildlife is one of my dearest joys – almost as precious as loving the fur-kids themselves.
Never give up.
I won’t!!! 🐾
Very moving story. I could feel your ache. Brought an ache back re one of my cats that a friend picked out for me. He was such a wee one — didn’t even fill my hand but he had the loudest, most demanding meow so I named him Tigger. He was so special. He liked to retrieve– for hours if I was willing to throw the tiny fluff ball that long. He liked to sleep on my hair (it was long then). He also used to jump — high and long. I was resting in bed one morning and he jumped from the head of the King-size bed past the end of the bed almost to the bedroom door. Maybe he really wanted to fly. Following a few surgeries to remove his tumors, he seemed fine. But nothing lasts forever. I let him go after he lost more than half his body weight and he wouldn’t sleep on my hair anymore Maybe his cancer came back — I couldn’t put him through any more. But I always wonder if it was too soon. Have you ever heard of “visitations?”. He was the upstairs cat. His sibling was the downstairs cat. They both lived to age 19. I catch two of my current cats staring upstairs. I took a picture of them once. My friends wanted to know what they were watching so intently. I told them I didn’t know — but I did. It was my Tigger visiting — checking in. He is gone but never forgotten. Thanks for your story — sometimes I forget how deep those attachments and feelings can go.
Awww what a beautiful remembrance of your fur-kids; I think we all wonder if it was “too soon” because we treasure them so; although we can’t help asking that question when we think back. I am confident you wouldn’t have broken your own heart even one day early, because when we set our beloveds free from pain, it’s at the cost of our own profound heartbreak, a final gift of love.
I get it — your Tigger sounds amazing! I know about second-guessing the hardest of choices; if it helps, I feel when you love that deeply, you will break your heart in the process of setting such a beloved one free. I don’t believe you would off-handedly devastate yourself; you take that action when you know it’s time. These consequences of loving much are heavy, and yet – so worth it.
Thank you, Christy, for your beautiful memories. Miss Kitty sounds like a special cat. The massive personality, fearlessness, and love inside tiny cat continues to amaze me.
-Mewla Young
Thanx so much for your kind words; she was quite extraordinary — I guess they all are in their wonderfully individual ways 💛🐾💛💛
Beautiful, I love your kitties.
Thanx so very much!!! Where would we be without those little miracles on paws???