Life: Idiotropic

Who knew that a drive down McLaughlin Boulevard could make such a difference? A hand-written sign in a dingy pet store window. A cage of kittens all sleeping. Except one.

A feisty ball of soft grey fluff. An only kitten and a mix - only half-Persian. Within the budget of a 14 year old girl.

So I proudly plunked down $40 of my own money and took my kitten home. More claws than cuddles, she took a while to mellow into the lap cat that most knew. But she was always my Misha.

She chattered at flies in the sliding glass doors of our Oregon City home. She played amongst the jungle of flowers in my mom's garden and hopped bunny like across the snow.

She stayed behind when I went to college, but was there on my return. Moved with me to Clackamas, then to Sherwood.

She came with me when I got married and moved to Missouri. She took walks with us in the evenings until she got too old, then we carried her half way. I remember pushing Arianna in the stroller with one hand, pregnant with Luci, and carrying Misha in the other. She was there for all my girls as babies. Ran to the crib with each of Tiara's cries and curled up at her feet while she slept. Watched them grow, cuddled with them, stood just far enough away to encourage excited crawling chase and those first few steps.

She lived in Oregon, Missouri, Texas, Florida, and Oklahoma, then slept in a Samsonite bag under the airplane seat as we flew across the Atlantic for our European journey. She lived in Germany where she befriended Tante Tinny who cooked her chicken and watched her when we were away. And she crossed France moving with us to Spain where she spent her last 6 months.

She turned 21 this last spring.

For months now Kirk and I have often looked at her, then too each other. Is it time? We didn't want her to suffer, but the idea of ending this is too painful to talk about. We'd start talking, my eyes would well up with tears, I'd pet her gently, and the discussion is suddenly over. Next month, next week... later. Not now.

And then, it was just time. And I finally knew. And I hated it, but it was the right thing to do. So Kirk went with me. And I held her and cuddled her as the vet gave her a shot to help her sleep. I laughed through tears when she threw up on me. Feisty cat - she had to have the last word. And I held her tight, pet her and talked to her while she calmed, relaxed, and fell asleep.

The girls would be coming home on the bus soon. It's time to go. Good-bye, Misha. You will be missed. And you are so loved.