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Kimberley

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  1. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her. Smudge was an eight-year-old rag-doll cat who came to us a little under a year ago when her owner, my friend Tim’s mother Barbara, passed away, and Tim and his wife Lisa could not keep her because of Lisa’s allergies. My and I were a little unsure about becoming catparents again less than a year after our beloved Siamese cat Elric had had to be put down, but we were lonely without someone furry and four-legged in our lives, so we agreed to take Smudge and Calli (Barbara’s other cat, a little calico she’d rescued from a shelter to keep Smudge company). In spite of our apprehensions, we looked forward to having two cats at once, as Elric had been an only “child.” After the funeral, we were at Tim and Lisa’s house and Lisa said, “Would you like to meet your new cats?” She led us into the basement (which was the cats’ more-or-less exclusive domain), and we were treated to our first sight of our little girls. Calli was a nervous little thing, a little shy of strangers but not actually frightened, and consented to sniff our fingers and allow us to pet her. She was and is a thin cat, and her bony back arched under our hands. Smudge, though… Smudge was curled up on one of the heated cushions the cats had, resting on top of one of those scratching pad/treehouse things, and did not get up at our approach, but blinked sleepily at us in greeting. She too sniffed my hand, and extended her head for me to pet her. Her fur, grey and white except for the black smudge on her nose that gave her her name, was so soft and thick and dense that it was like petting a cloud, and her tail was bushy and tremendous, and lashed happily as I stroked her. She blinked her blue eyes at me (rag dolls are cousins to Siamese, and share their eye color), meowed softly, and before I could stroke her a second time, began to purr. We would not take them home for another week yet, but from that moment, she was my cat. It was a treat getting to know two cats at once. Smudge and Calli weren’t exactly friends, more old enemies who’d known each other so long that they had become uneasy allies. Smudge, who had been an only cat before Calli’s arrival, seemed never to have quite gotten over the idea that she should go on being an only cat, and usually looked askance at Calli as if to say, “Who are you again, and what exactly are you for?” For her part, Calli thought Smudge was just fine, and would rub up against her at feeding time (to be fair, Calli did and does rub up against just about anything at feeding time). Smudge’s reaction to this was generally an exasperated glare and/or an irritated mrrowwl. And although they both loved to lie on our bed, they hated to share it – if one of them was up there, the other one would grouse about on the floor like a small child denied its favorite swing on the playground. Usually, Kim or I would pick up the exiled cat and plonk her down next to her “sister,” and whichever cat it was would grumpily settle down and relax, inevitably turning its back on the other. Smudge herself was definitely a character. She tended not to vocalize much, punctuating thoughts and deeds with meows that were more glottal stop than actual vocalization: “M---!” She was a compulsive bather, like many longhairs, but this also extended to your hand, arm or indeed your whole body if you happened to be nearby as she was washing. Her tongue was like wet sandpaper, and watching her go to town washing between her toes was a variety show in itself. She loved the bathtub, and liked to jump into it and roll around. Petting her during this process produced an ecstasy of purrs and playful swipes at your hand. She didn’t especially like being held, but accepted it with begrudging good grace. And she loved being sung to. I was home with her most days, discovered that Smudge had a wide musical palette of tastes, liking everything from Sondheim (pretty much anything) to Erasure (“A Little Respect” was a particular favorite). Smudge liked it when I sang ballads; my usual tune was Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender,” in which I would replace “darling” with “Smudgeling.” (This is why I am not a lyrics writer any more than I am a singer.) Regardless of the song, she always got very excited when either of us would sing, meowing (singing back, as we called it), winding between our legs, and reaching up with one paw as if to grasp the sounds from the air, like Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein. And purring, always, always purring. I could go on all day about her, and never get tired. I could talk about those massive, fluffy white paws, which prompted me to nickname her “Thunderpaws;” I could talk about her almost recreational ability to vomit without there actually being anything wrong with her at all (a trait Calli seems to share); about her fascination with the front door, which she would watch as eagerly as though a hundred Narnias awaited just on the other side; or about the slightly vapid expression she always seemed to wear. (We used to call her a “pwetty pwetty pwincess,” always with the w’s and always with two “pwetty”s. It just seemed to fit.) I could go on all day. But sadness catches up with me, and I have to proceed to the inevitable. Yesterday, without warning, Smudge began hiding, pressing her head hard against the back wall of her little cubbyhole. Her breathing became shallow, and she was unresponsive to stimuli. When I took her to the emergency animal clinic, Smudge started to suffer from seizures on the way. Late last night the diagnosis was delivered: a brain tumor, from which her life could only be prolonged, not restored; and that, only with months and months of chemotherapy and radiation, which would leave her sickly, disoriented, and confused. We could not do that to our little pwincess, and we made the decision to let her go. She slept, and slipped away under our stroking hands, and one last time, I sang to her: “for my Smudgeling, I love you, and I always will…” We didn’t have her very long, but she was my girl, my comfort, and my joy. She was our Thunderpaws, our Smudgeling, our pwetty pwetty pwincess. We will never forget her, and we will miss her always. Goodbye, my angel. This is Smudge. She too likes the bed. She is only eight. I will never, ever get over grieving for her. We had her for such a short, short time. My heart is breaking and I will mourn her for the rest of my life.
  2. I need someone's advice and I was hoping this board could help me. 3 Months ago, my husband and I lost our baby boy, our cat Elric. We've had him all of our married life and he was my guardian angel. I almost died last year, and spent the better part of it in bed, and he took care of me every day. He never left my side. We had to move, and drove across the country with him rather than put him in the hold of a plane. He was our light and our very life. Since he's gone, coming home seems dark and empty. Don't get me wrong, my husband and I have each other, and we're grateful. But, without Elric, we're missing something. This board has helped me be able to cry, and feel okay to grieve. It has helped me feel not so alone. But, every day I want him back. Everyday I miss him, but no less. This has hit my husband hard, too. I can't even mention his name without him crying, which, of course, starts me off as well. Well, over the last couple of weeks it has become clear that the only way that Clay (my husband) can get through this is to adopt another kitty to love. I want one, too, but there are two problems. One is our home is FULL of boxes; someone would have to always be watching to make sure the new kitties are safe. (I've considered keeping them in a couple of rooms until we can unpack, so this might just be an excuse) I think the real problem is that I feel disloyal to our precious angel who came before. He was the most special cat in a long line of cats, and, I guess, I want him to know how deeply we grieve for him still. But, it is causing us such pain. We need a new kitty to love (at least one). Is this wrong? I want my Elric back, but I know that he's not coming back, that he's moved on from this world. We feel his loss so keenly, I don't want to loose that quite yet. If anyone has any advice, I could sure use it. I'm very mixed up right now and not sure what the right answer is. Thank you for any help that anyone has. Kim E. PS: The picture is of Elric and his daddy.
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