This is my cat.
Speckles.
My neighbor had brought a skinny cat home that he had rescued from a building he was rehabbing and after a few meals, that cat started getting really fat. Oops. She was really pregnant.
Speckles was the runt of the litter and I adored her from the moment she was born.
She is now 17 years old.
She's a sweet, shy little creature, whose idea of having company is anyone who comes into my home via the radio or the television.
The closest she likes to get to the outside world is sniffing the dog when the dog comes back from wherever we take her.
By the various looks on her face, I have both amused and bored her as we've lived together through the Clinton, Bush and the first couple of the Obama years, since I'm a politics junkie and have never been completely happy with any of these administrations.
She has sat on my thigh, softly purring, during the typing of almost every word on this blog.
She is the only living thing in this house who has seen the space between the main floor and the basement when as a kitten she got tangled in a paper bag and in an effort to escape ran up a ladder and into small hole in the ceiling that had been put there in my uneducated attempt at trying to keep some pipes from freezing.
She loves watching snow fall, making winter all the more bearable for me!
She for 17 years been the one who runs to greet me when I get home, often before the dog who is much more devoted to my husband.
We've both been lucky in our mutual admiration society.
I like to read, she likes to sit on books.
I like to do crossword puzzles, she likes to push my pen.
I like to cook, she like to taste test and pick up spills.
I get cold feet, she likes to pretend to be a foot warmer.
The list could go on and on.
This past weekend Speckles stopped eating much of anything and her weight is dropping rapidly.
Today the vet came over and saw her and the prognosis isn't good. At all.
She is dying.
It could be days, a week, it could be a month, but it's coming.
As soon as I see she is uncomfortable in her quality of life, and I have to make the decision all pet owner's dread, I will. In the meantime, most everything else is going to take a back seat. I will spend most every moment thanking her for all the love, goodness and joy that she has graced my life with. And, she finally gets to have some Fancy Feast cat food after all these years of IAMS, even if she only wants to eat 1/2 teaspoon at a time. It makes her purr and right now that makes us both happy.
I love her and I will miss her.
