Good-bye, “what ever your name was”

What did we name her?  Hazel?  Harriet?  Lucy?  Milly?

I think she was kitty, you tell me.  Maybe she lost her name when she lost weight. She was skinny, lived in the barn, slept in the raccoon ravaged tack room, used the barn floor crazily scratching patterns 2o feet from her little scat pile.  Japanese gardener kitty.  That would be a fit name.

Dear kitty…..”Should we have named you throw up kitty, because you vomited on all the horse blankets, rugs and soft items in the tack room, scratched the saddles and wove your white fluffy fur into saddle pads.

Names like Sick kitty, flea kitty, chew toy (because Georgia dog held you in her jaws and shook you when she could catch you), Hidey kitty, because you were so good at skittering under the hay deck, into the squeeze we left in the tack room and keeping away from the coyotes.

In case you were too hazy to recall-“You died on Sunday, September 4th. Georgia and I went to feed the horse and mule, heard the echo of your yowl.  I squeezed in, leaving Georgia outside, saw you there on the dirt floor.  I hadn’t seen you for a couple of days.  You purred when I petted your filthy little head.  Your frame like a fragile set of poorly linked tinker toys covered in a scabby pelt.  I slipped my hand under your cool body and put you in the carrier.  You died at the vet’s office.  Then I told the kids.  Orion cried.  And remembered the dead butterfly, lizard, fish he saw at the lake and doggy Metro.  He decided that you are not really going to heaven because you are heavier than a cloud.”

We loved seeing you, petting, snuggling with you.  I am sorry we didn’t take better care of you.  But you seemed happy, twirling, purring and meowing in your wild way when we’d come down the hill.  You had a life of freedom, wild kitty pleasure, along with danger and survival.    Do you remember when I got you?  A young woman named Haylie was taking you, your two sisters and Mom to the ocean in a pillowcase to toss you off a cliff.  I took you all home to the barn.  Your mom sneaked into the horse trailier jumping through the screen out on the road as we drove off.  Your sisters, Dot and Milly disappeared.  But 8 years later you survived.  Quite a long time, girlie.  What a kitty you were.

I’m sorry I can’t remember if you were Hazel or not.”


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