My roster of pets has changed since I first wrote here.
My old Eartha Kitty enjoyed a long and lazy ninth life, but finally gave up the ghost one summer a few years back. It was sad, but not really unexpected. She was around 14, and almost all those years were spent with a loving mama in a forever home. We should all be so lucky.
Just weeks after losing Eartha, my little Cleo went into crisis. It turned out that she had a congenital heart deformity that had reached its stress point. We bought her several months of relative comfort with drugs, but there was nothing to be done in the long run. Her end was hard, in part because she was so young and so emotionally needy.
That brought our little family down to just me and Freeway.
After a few months, I decided we needed a new kitty. The SPCA offered up a half-grown Calico kitten I named Ming. She was a frantic little monster and took weeks to adjust to both me and the dog.
Meanwhile, Freeway made it clear I had not solicited her opinion on this new roommate arrangement. The kingdom was not so peaceable for quite a while. Eventually, though, my magic animal mantra began to sink in—that commandment so simple even the beasts comprehend it: Love one another.
Peace settled in, but time kept moving on. Freeway grew gray in the muzzle. From time to time, I noticed her stumble in the rear end when going up the stairs, and she started to balk at jumping up into the car. I knew that lameness was in the cards one day.
That day came this last summer. She lost all mobility, all dignity and all quality of life. Slowly, tearfully, we made that last trip to the vet’s office. Now she’s chasing squirrels in doggy heaven. She was the best little puppy in the whole wide world, and I’m still taking care not to step where she isn’t anymore. Tears fill my eyes as I type.
So once more, we’re down to a family of two—me and Ming. My fat, sassy little Ming seems just fine with being an only child. That works for me, too. For now.