As I type this, a little bundle of fur is curled up next to me,
passed out from a morning of play.
If I didn't know better, I'd say that Yuki got to work right away
after she crossed to the Other Side, sending an injured Siamese
kitten to our campus--scant more than 24 hours after she passed on.
At the time, I was a bit too consumed by grief to really consider
adopting this little squirt; nevertheless, *something* compelled
me to take a second and third look. I don't know if it was the way
he kneaded his little towel when I looked at him, or the fact that
the student who brought him in had no money to have him properly
treated, but I couldn't get this little guy out of my head.
He was about seven weeks old, infested with fleas, and had an avulsed
lower lip (detached due to trauma). In itself, the injury was not a
real big deal, but the problem was that the injury was about two
weeks old, meaning that it was too late to just sew things back up.
In any case, it's not a huge defect--just gives him a kind of Bubba
Gump look. As he grows, the scar may contract, and he could very
well have a perfectly normal face with no medical help. If not, then
he can have surgical reconstruction when it is neuter time.
So you guessed it: After ten days of debating, the kitten came home
with me and has been christened with the name of Misha. Now flea-
free, vaccinated, dewormed, bathed, and has his very own blue Beastie
Band collar with little bees emblazoned on it, Misha has got Bobby--
who was quite depressed after losing Yuki--playing and acting like a
big kitten again.
It is great fun to watch a little tyke go racing past the doorway
with Bobby in hot pursuit, and five seconds later to see Bobby
whizzing by with little Misha right on his tail, feeling like a Big
Yuki's ashes are right next to my bed, in a wooden box with a brass
plaque I had engraved with some words of love. My daughter is flying
down for Mother's Day with the fused glass pieces made with another
bit of Yuki's ashes.
The remaining bit of Yuki's cremains will be going back to Oregon
with my daughter, where Yuki was born, to be spread among the flowers
After some introspection and recalling those last weeks and days, I
realized how very lucky we all were that Yuki enjoyed such a normal
life until the very end. Only a few days before she passed away, she
was going bonkers over the smell of Ivory soap on Duane's arm, and as
I mentioned in an earlier post, on her final night here on Earth, she
snuggled up with me for one last session of purring and kneading,
which I was deeply touched to be the recipient of.
I had guilted myself out so much over not having gotten her into ICU
for aggressive treatment, etc., but after reading about some of the
harrowing experiences that some of you and your beautiful cats have
endured at life's end, it occurred to me that both Yuki and I had
been blessed by what turned out to be a short period of illness and a
swift and quiet passing here at home, where Yuki was happiest.
Yuki, being half Siamese, had a penchant for Siamese and Siamese-
cross kittens. I rescued so many babies, but Yuki definitely loved
the colorpoints the best--coincidence? It feels like devine
intervention by the most loving and gentle cat I ever had the honor
to love (except when it was nail-trim time).
My thoughts and prayers are with all of you, and I sense that Yuki's
out there somewhere giving the high-sign with her little dark mitt.
There is a still a void that will never be filled