Saturday, July 24, 2010


Prissy died Friday, July 23, 2010. When we went to the vet, he said she was worse. When I saw her, she wasn't even there. Surgery was no longer an option. She had a 15% chance of survival. Whatever this was that hit her so fast, she couldn't fight it off. When I held her and talked to her, I noticed her eyes were filmed over. She was no longer there. He gave her the shot in another room and returned her to us in a casket. Sandy paid the bill on her which I'll be paying back for a long long time. We left with a bill of $800.00 for the week.

Sandy and I took her to her house in the country. She and her sister, Jo, buried her next to Sandy's cat, Midnight, who died in December. I planted a mini rose over her. She finally made it to the country.

She was more than a pet, more than a cat, or an animal. Unless you've had a friend like Prissy, you'd never understand how hard it was to let her go. She was my family. She wandered into my life eleven years ago and has been my non-judgmental, loving, devoted friend. She was a far better friend than most people in this world could ever be.

My heart breaks. But I have no doubt in my mind that my brother was waiting for her to enter Heaven's gates. He was waiting for her and will take care of her till I get there. When I lost Squirt a couple of years ago, I knew my dad was waiting for him, his dearest friend. And when it is my turn, I'll walk into the gate with both of them standing there holding my feline friends.

Shirley told me the story of her mother and her cat. She put it better than anyone I've ever heard. I hope she doesn't mind me sharing this: Her mother said, "Ya'll all have somebody. Spitfire is all I have and I need to know that she is going to be taken care of." Just read it below:
Mary, I understand about your feelings for that special cat in your life. I probably could not if it had not been for Mama. After Daddy died, all she had was her cat. Over a period of several years, including when she died, she had two. First was Missy. She died from some type of cancer. Mama was devastated for a while. But, she got another one from a batch of cats that she had started feeding there at her little house in town. Mama always fed stray animals and you know what that leads to. We were constantly getting rid of cats by relocating them. I finally told Mama that she had to quit feeding strays. She did. But, the last batch we had to deal with included one kitten that was so defensive we could not even catch her. She would get up under the porch furniture and spit and claw out at us. Mama said she needed another companion any way and she would tame her and she named her, very appropriately, Spitfire. My mama was very original in some of her expressions and I thought this showed originality on her part, since the cat truly was a "spitfire." Well, to say the least, she and Mama bonded. She became an inside/outside cat. Mama kept her a litter box in the house but she spent most of every day outside. I used to say that I had never seen a cat that would spend most of the day outside and then come inside to use the bathroom. But, Spitfire did, because Mama spoiled "her baby."

One time when Mama had to be admitted to the hospital, which became more frequent towards the latter days of her life, she was all worried about the cat and who would take care of her. I was all worried about Mama and what was going to happen to her. I said, and not too kindly, "Mama, please shut up about the cat. We will look after her. She is just a cat and I am more concerned about you." She made a statement that changed my view of this cat altogether. She said "Ya'll all have somebody. Spitfire is all I have and I need to know that she is going to be taken care of." I wanted to cry. I reassured her that Spitfire would definitely be taken care of. I never again treated Spitfire as a cat. I began to show her some special attention because that pleased Mama so much. and, in the process, I realized that I got closer to the cat also.

It was like someone paying attention to your child vs ignoring them and considering them "just a child." I also began to observe how Mama's view of people that came into her home was based on how they treated Spitfire. She never said anything unless someone was really rude to Spitfire, but I could tell how she felt. When I would stay with her after that or spend some time with her she would tell Spitfire to go over there and let Shirley rub you. Spitfire had a way of rubbing against Mama's recliner and expecting her to caress her. Sometimes her shoulders and arms would hurt her so bad that she didn't feel like doing it as much but she wanted Spitfire taken care of. That is when she would tell her "to go over there and let Shirley rub you."

So, I know exactly how you feel about your Prissy.

1999 - 2010