About eight years ago my Mother was living alone in St Louis, and after being in a house with family and two Siamese cats she was mighty lonely.  Our hairdresser (Yes Mother made trips back to Kansas to get her hair done) had a friend with two cats named Kate and Allie.  Unfortunately for the last two years they had been virtually prisoners in the basement while the house was being renovated, and their owner's job description had changed so now he traveled most of the time.  Our hair dresser felt this situation was inhumane so she kept a picture of Kate and Allie on her mirror and would tell their story to all her clients.

Oh yeah, she knew Mom was a softy and would snap 'em up inna heartbeat.  I was against it and felt these cats had probably become feral, and would never adjust to her.  Fortunately Mother ignored the crap outta me and took 'em.

Allie is an enormous beautiful cat, with green almond shaped eyes, grey and black tiger stripes and a freckle on his nose.  Kate was smaller with lil white feet -- she would walk around as if on her tip toes.  I called her Lil Diddums.

For the first week Allie hid under the bed and then started to come around.  It took Kate a lil longer, but one night while Mother was sitting at her computer she felt something rub up against her legs.  She reached down to pet her and Kate made a lil chirpy sound and stood on her hind legs to meet Mom's hands.  

Unfortunately Kate had health problems.  There would be days where she would puke over 20 times.  You could go out for a day, come back and the living room looked like a mine field.  We took her to the vets and had every known test run on her.  They never could figure out the problem and actually said, "We've helped you people enough." Then cut us off.

Two years down the line after moving to another apartment in St Louis just six weeks prior, Mother has a new job in sunny California.  I have to go back to Kansas and consolidate cats.  By this time Kate's brain was a lil fried and we were certain she could never get along with the cats at home.  After all, her and Allie fought all the time.  

I don't lie very often.  One I'm not good at it and two there just doesn't seem to be a point.  Kate is one of the very few things in my life I lie about, but I'll tell you the truth.  Between her puking and increasingly erratic behavior I honestly didn't even think she'd make the 4 1/2 hour trip back to Kansas.  I should've been the one to put her down, but my cat at home that I had since 9 just died of kidney failure and I lacked the courage to go through it again.  Instead I took her to a shelter and left her -- knowing she had never let another person besides Mother and I touch her.

That night I squalled like a mashed cat.  I cried non-stop from evening to five in the morning.  All I wanted to do was run back to that shelter and bring her home.  

Although Allie had grown accustom to us, he never was big on the lovey dovey stuff.  Oh sure he would sit next to ya and hang, but he was never a lap cat and still was a bit standoffish.  That fateful night I was sitting in front of the computer, staring at the screen with tears streaming down my cheeks.  There was a barstool beside me because Allie liked to hop up and sit next to ya, and that night was no exception.  As I sat there I felt a furry paw on my leg and it was Allie stepping off the barstool to sit in my lap.  

He's been my feller ever since and sat on my lap while we drove cross country to here from Kansas.  We sit and have complete conversations.  When he's snugglin with me and I coo at him Mother calls it, "The mutual admiration society."  I call him my Hunny Bunny Sugar Booger.

Two years ago, late at night, Dad and I heard this distressed meow.  Well it certainly wasn't Allie, he was asleep.  There is a wild cat that hangs around our house, known as White Cat, but its meow is barely above a squeak and this was rather vocal.  So we turn on the light, look outside and find a lil tortoise shell kitty.  I went outside to talk to her and she was just as sweet and friendly as one could be, not even remotely scared.  I gave her a lil food and water and that seemed to satisfy her.  The next night she came back, and the next and the next.  There are tons of wild cats around here and she just didn't fit the mold.  For the next two weeks I combed the lost and found ads and asked around the neighborhood, but came up with zilch.

Now Allie is a persnickety old fart and likes to be the only one.  As much as I love cuddlin the kitties at Petsmart I know I could never bring one home cuz he'd be pissy.  But this cat was different.  At first sight, of course, Al hissed at her but instead of retaliating she just backed away and said, "Oooo?"  Truth be told, she was madly in love with Al and just thought he was beautiful.

Well time passes and sometimes I let her in the house for the afternoon. I also start callin her Molly cuz she needs a name right?  The rainy season is upon us so we set up a lil cozy place for her in the garage.  But on those cold stormy days I just couldn't stand her bein out in that cold garage and would always big her indoors.  She loved hangin with folks, incredibly respectful of The Boss and was a lap cat.  Because if I ever had a complaint about Al it was that he wasn't much for gettin on yer lap.  One rainy night she was curled up in Mom's bed and then... She sneezes.  Mother quickly begins to fuss and says that we can't put her back out in that garage tonight cuz she'll catch a cold.  Needless to say Molly has never seen the garage since.

I never have forgiven myself for Kate and I probably never will, but I do feel that saving Molly was a bit of atonement.  And we always like to think that Molly is the reincarnation of Kate.

Last night I kept thinking of the silliest things: I should’ve taken more pictures; I should clean his water dish but I didn’t have the strength, yet once he was gone I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it.  Allie always had his lil rituals: He’d stick his paw in the water dish till it made the glub glub sound he liked, then there would be lil wet paw prints all across the hardwood floor.  Although we had a water filtration system it didn’t take into account that his feet would always be in it, thus I would have to clean it out for him as he preferred his water pristine.  

Towards the end I started to nickname Sir Winksalot, but now I wish I could hear him wink one more time.

A year ago Allie was diagnosed with kidney disease; they would slowly diminish and finally shutdown altogether.  To slow this process we gave him subcutaneous fluids every night for three months.  But in the past few days he began to vomit and lost his appetite.

This morning we went to the vet’s and brought him a can of tunafish – his favorite.  He lapped up his favorite meal, we pet and loved on him.  Then I held him in my arms while the doctor put the injection into his IV. He jerked because he always hated feeling of sedation and then went limp.  I asked, “Is he gone?” The doctor checked his heart and said that he was. I buried my face in his fur, rocked him back and forth and said, “My lil guy.”  Mom cried, Russ cried, the doctor cried – we all did.  I held him for a lil bit while he was still warm, and then Russ laid his body on the table.

I think I need to add one more to my definition of love list: Love is also the willingness to bear a loss, and love is also the bravest one can do as we know one day they’ll be gone.