In Memoriam

Catnap

She walked into my mother’s flower shop as a young lost kitty, and I adopted her soon after. Suzie Sugar Toes. That’s the name that my mom coined for her, and what I continued to call her. She tiptoed around the house, and the brown fur on her feet had sprinklings of white, like beach sand, or sugar. She was always so adaptable, so social. She was never a cat to hide from visitors.

She wasn’t super snuggly, but she hugged my hands with her face when I petted her, sinking her cheek into the cup of my hand, gently resting there. She always was near us, though. In the room with me as I worked, at The Husband’s feet at breakfast waiting for a bit of milk from his cereal. She used to sit in the shadows sometimes, the stripe of white on her nose the only visible hint that she was there, watching, then the rest of her would appear from the darkness if she decided to come into the light. She liked popcorn, she would sit with us and beg for a couple of kernals. And she was a notorious bread stealer. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve left a loaf where she could get it to find kitty teeth marks in the plastic bag and bites of bread missing.

She helped me make our wedding tablecloths

She would talk to herself. Or to someone that we were never aware of. All the time. Sometimes, we would be upstairs in bed and hear her in some other part of the quiet house, “Meow meow meow, meow? Meow.” Not plaintively. Not expressing her desire for something. Just having some unknown conversation with herself. Or the dark. Or the ghost kitty of the house, maybe. I never understood. Those conversations with herself were always such a mystery.

Both times we’ve moved, she was always so curious, immediately nosing around, checking out corners, getting to know the place. She was never one to disappear after a move into some faraway corner, only to be seen again a few days later. When she was a young gal, the first year I had her, she used to dart out the door as soon as I would open it, I was so afraid of losing her. Because I’m sure that’s how I got her in the first place.

She would start shit with Nari, and then totally play the victim. She would sidle up to him in the middle of the floor and look at him, until he decided she was encroaching on his bubble. Then he would put his front paw on her head. It was the funniest thing to watch, I wish I could have captured it on film, but was never able. I never understood if it was some kind of warning, or playing, or just what exactly it was. Drove her batty, though. She’d endure it as long as she could bring herself to endure it, like a game of chicken, until one of them lost it and pounced on the other. Then there would be a rolling blur of fur, and she’d either run away hissing in protest, or chase him around the house. I swear it was a game, but she always ended it sounding so cranked out and pissed off, like oh my GOD did you just see what this little piece of crap pulled? when we know full well that she started it.

He misses her. We miss her.

Oh, how she loved to party. Such a social cat, she was. She was never afraid of guests, never one to run and hide, always eager to say hello, rub legs, give tail hugs, and generally sit around and chat. She’d greet friends and family and then mingle in the middle of a conversation. This was ever evident at our housewarming party a couple of weeks ago, even though she was by then starting to slow down. But she was still happy to hang out with everyone, chilling in the middle of the floor here and there, never afraid of getting stepped on. She was so brave.

I wrote this in bits and pieces, both because I couldn’t stand to pour it all out at once, my soul would have ripped open, and also because I wanted to write these things as I remembered them, while she was with us. Now, there is a piece missing here, a presence lost from our home, our family, our lives. A piece that cannot be replaced. That amazon stripe of war paint is gone.

We put her to sleep last Friday. She was such a trooper, but the cancer had gotten too big, and she couldn’t take it any longer. It was such a hard decision, one I didn’t want to have to make, but one that needed to be made, one she depended on us to make.

Goodbye, my sweet girl. Suzie Lou, Sugartoes. We love you.