Kätzchen came home from the shelter as my 15th birthday present. I'd always been fond of black cats. My next door neighbors growing up, John and Ginny, had a sweet little old (and I mean OLD, John knew he'd had him for 23) black cat named Nemo. We couldn't have a cat because our dog Abby, as awesome as she was, was a bit jealous of other pets. So after she died at the beginning of freshman year of high school, Mom blindfolded me and took me to the shelter to pick out a cat.
I cried. It was too soon. But we went through with it. I'm glad we did.
There were three black cats at the shelter, all about ten months old. I held each one. Two of them quickly leaped out of my arms. The third one hung out for a minute or two before peacing out. That clever cat was my Kätzchen, who would never willingly let anyone hold her again as long as she lived with us. She was well aware of whose she was though-- mine. She often slept on my bed, sometimes on my feet, sometimes under the blanket next to my stomach, sometimes over my head as earmuffs.
She was kind of weird. She never really figured out how to meow properly, making weird lamb sounds instead. She was super soft, which may be why she sneezed ALL. THE. TIME. I swear she was allergic to cats. But she was my soft little black cat.
I'm sitting here trying to figure out what to write, but it's not like we had excellent capers like Rumple and I did. She was an indoor cat. But I will greatly miss her warm, quiet presence. I'm grateful that my parents and our vet ended the sudden suffering, but I'm very, very sad that she will not be there when I get back Wednesday night. This was my cat, the petite black cat that convinced me I like both dogs AND cats, pretty equally.
I miss my cat.
:(
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