When Scott and I moved to South Carolina, our first order of business — before even unpacking all of our stuff — was to adopt a kitten from the local Humane Society.
This little kitten chose us. She was the only one who had any interest in us whatsoever, and the moment we took her out of the cage she was all over the place. Purring for me, rubbing against Scott’s ankle, and otherwise just saying, “adopt me! ME!” We took her home and named her “Sassafras” after the tallest point in South Carolina. “Sassy” instantly lived up to her name, because a sillier, more energetic, and more mischievous kitten there never was.
She helped me through graduate school:
She moved with us into our first house, and welcomed a new “sister” mostly gracefully.
Then she made the big move to Kansas, where she became my official office mascot, often laying across the keyboard or over my arm, and then biting at me when I attempted to use that arm to manipulate the mouse. In the last few days of my pregnancy, she kept me under constant surveillance, almost as if she sensed that a big change was coming.
She’s a special cat and I thought we were going to have many more years together. She started getting sick at the end of May, though, and we’ve since learned that she’s in kidney failure. The disease is progressing much faster than we thought, and even though we’ve been trying to buy more time with her by treating her with pain medication, it’s become obvious that whatever time she has left is dominated by pain. I don’t want to lose this kitty, but I don’t want her to be hurting.
We’re saying goodbye to Sassy the Cat today, and it makes me sad. I’m going to miss my office cat, Scott is going to miss “his” cat (because of the two of us, she chose him as her favorite), and Drake is going to wonder where his beloved “ki-ee” has gone.