And she was…

She found us by looking through the glass door to the mail room at our apartments. She was fairly bedraggled, her hair was matted and dirty, and she was adorable.

We went outside to say hello. She said hi and then rolled around on her back on the concrete. She followed us home.

It took a bit of coaxing to cross the road-way, even though she happily followed us up to that point with no encouragement from us. She overcame her fear, and came into our home.

She was spayed and de-clawed, had on a flea collar, and had fleas. With medicine they went away, with a bath she was this fuzzy ball of adorableness.

And she was so cuddly.
And she was so lovable.
And she liked to be pet, nothing was more important than her getting pet.
And she was very good at head-butting.
And she was afraid of the broom.

She would run away every time I swept. Poor baby. Everyone I told that to always made the saddest poor kitty comment. But after a bit she learned there was nothing to be afraid of when I was sweeping, so she stopped running away.

She would try to get out a lot. She’d take off and get to places that made it hard to get to her… like other people’s balconies. After a while she wouldn’t run so far, only enough to find some grass to chew.

She would always poke her head in the fridge, and make it impossible to close. When we were getting ready to buy the house we started her on freezer training, since we’d have a side-by-side in the house. We’d pick her up and open the freezer door… and she’d poke her head in an sniff around. Then she’d turn around and cuddle, because she was a good cuddler.

She ate dry food, but we would treat her with wet, and with tuna. She’d get so loud when she thought she was getting a treat. Until wednesday. She barely made a sound, didn’t seem nearly so animated. That’s how I knew something was wrong.

She still tried to get out once we moved. But she always stayed really close to the house. She’d either just roll around on the concrete step or go on down to the grass to munch. So we got a harness and took her around the house for walks. Not nearly enough tho. Not because we didn’t want to, but because our neighbors suck. We didn’t like being outside much, and usually the neighbors dogs were out barking. I’m sorry Mousie, I know you liked being outside. But you don’t care now anyway.

And she was so serious, stalking through the grass.
And she was so insistent in investigating the underbrush, which I never let her do.
And she was so happy to roll around on the sun-warmed concrete, and lie there for a while.
And she was so content to just sit and nibble the grass, lying in the sun.

We had to open the curtains all at the bottom so that she could still see out of them. And sometimes she’d see something outside and wouldn’t shut up about it for hours, seemingly half the damn night. And she would trill at the birds and squirrels and bunnies. And she would talk to the other cats that came by now and then… one orange, one black, one grey. When they went away she’d try calling them back.

She would perch on my chair or ottoman in my office to look outside. She would perch on the table or the dining-room chair with Otto’s ex-cushion (now hers) to look outside. She’d perch on the box under the window in the game-room to look outside. Then she’d lie there for a while while I painted, content to be in the room with me. Any time a window was opened she’d come running, to sit in the window for hours, looking outside. It was warm the past few days/weeks and I kept meaning to open a window for her, and I didn’t.

And this hurts so much.
And she no longer cares.
And she feels no more pain.
But I do.

She’d try and constantly escape into the garage. She’d then explore it for a bit. We finally got her to come in by offering tuna. Since that point I think she more escaped in order to get the treat at the end than to be in the garage. When it was cold enough she’d run out, wait a few seconds so we knew she had done it, then come back in quite loudly, so we knew we should give her a treat. I almost always did.

She knew that treats mean love.
And kisses mean love.
And head-butting means love.
And snuggles mean love.

She would sleep above my head the whole time we were in the apartment. When we got the big bed she liked to sleep between us, taking up more space than either of us. Or she would sleep between my legs, so that I couldn’t close them or move them or wiggle them at all. And I really didn’t mind.

She chewed my hair.
And snuggled in my shoulder.
And climbed to the top of the kitchen cabinets.
And she liked boxes.
And she liked sunny spots on the floor.
And she liked lying near the fire.
And she liked Otto’s closet.

And she never played with bought toys, except the chirping mouse one and the laser pointers. But she would play with milk caps, bottle caps, anything that normally is supposed to go in my hair, rubber bands, plastic bags, and anything that moved too funny.

She would stalk, kill, and eat moths. It was funny.

She liked to lick bags. We have no idea why. She’d sometimes get into them to lick them, sometimes lick the outside. Apparently plastic bags are tasty.

She preferred to drink water coming out of the faucet, but after a while I got tired of wasting the water so I didn’t let her anymore. We have pictures of the first time she did tho. It was cute.

I don’t know when we found her. It was like in august, right before a hurricane. Like a day before or something. We always figured it was lucky that way. We prolly had her for about a year or so at the apartment before we moved into the house. The first pictures I can find of her are feb-apr 2000. So we’ve had her with us for prolly around 7 years. And she was so much more than I can possibly put here.

When we’d go for drives, usually to the vet for checkups and the like, she’d know when we got into the neighborhood. She’d perk up, look out the window, start getting excited knowing where she was and that she was almost home. She didn’t like the carrier, and after the first few times I didn’t bother… she stayed put for the most part on the passenger seat, content to rest her head on my hand… which was easier to do when I wasn’t driving my car. I used the carrier yesterday, I thought she’d be more comfortable, less jostling. She didn’t seem to mind for once. She’s usually really vocal on drives. Not yesterday.

And she would pee on the floor. And she got sick a lot. And I won’t have to clean that up anymore. And it’s no consolation.

We don’t know what was wrong with her. She was lethargic, her belly was distended, and she barely made a sound. Her abdomen was filling with blood. It could have been cancer or FIP. We opted to forgo the ultrasound since either is pretty much untreatable at this point. I wasn’t really expecting something serious, though in the back of my mind there was the thought that it would be… I just figured it would be something that we could fix. I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable anymore. She didn’t want to be held, even though she’d still snuggle a bit when I picked her up. It was like it was too uncomfortable to be held. There seemed to be no point to prolong her suffering just so that we could have more time. So we said goodbye. And she just fell asleep.

She’s not here anymore. And we’re sad. And it’s lonely. No more snuggles. No more headbutts. No more getting on your lap and keeping your ass in a chair until she’s ready to leave.

And I’m not ready for her to be gone.

Mousie in February

Mousie at the window

The Grey Mouser
a.k.a. Mousie
22 March 2007


2 Responses to “And she was…”

  1. kitmouse Says:

    Oh NO, honey, oh god. I’m so, so, so sorry. Oh honey. My heart goes out to you.

  2. Psludge » fuck Says:

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