She came into our lives unexpectedly – one day showing up at the door along with three other cats. Naturally, we fed them all, and kept feeding them until they became ‘ours.’ Sunny was ‘ours’ (as much as cats can be anyone’s) for over six years. She came to us as an adult, already trained to be outdoors, but behaving so well indoors, never even using the litter box we kept ‘just in case.’ She was affectionate, obedient, kind. Knew her name, came when called, went for walks with us – behaved in so many ways, like a puppy. She was my ‘baby’ when all my human babies were grown with babes of their own. I saw her for the last time last weekend. She spent a restless night on my bed last Friday – cuddling and cuddling, and keeping me awake. Little did I know it would be the last time. I gave her a bowlful of her beloved wet food Monday before I left for the week. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see her.
My husband called me Wednesday to say he hadn’t seen Sunny. She didn’t come for dinner, nor come for breakfast.
I got home Thursday night, and she was not there to greet me. She didn’t come when I called. She wasn’t anywhere on the property or at the neighbors. Now, three days later, in heat exceeding 95F with matching humidity, I fear the worst. I wake to find that:
* there’s no scratching at the screen to come indoors
* there’s no wee pleading face at the door looking for wet food
* there’s no kitty taking a walk with us
* there’s no kitty snuggling with me, sleeping on my chest, snuggling against my back
* there’s no kitty ‘meowing’ to go outdoors or asking for her dinner
* there’s no kitty being so patient as the grands ‘do nice kitty’ pettings
* there’s no ‘sunshine’ coming when her name is called
* there’s no kitty ‘sitting’ when told
* there’s no kitty watching all the birds.
There’s only bits of shed fur on the floors, an empty food bowl, and a big hole in my heart.
Wherever she’s gone, IF she is gone forever, I hope her passing was peaceful… but I wish I could have been there, holding her against me, one last time.
I miss you, Sunshine.