She was almost named Ewok, Caramel Swirl, Sphinx, but her name only fit when I happened on Nancy Drew. Some people called her Nancy and even Nanc, but to me, it was always two words, three syllables.
She was the offspring of a stray rescued by an ER nurse named Christine that I worked with. She was a sweet tiny kitty, and it was tough to choose between her and her brother, but she was my long-suffering companion for over 17 years.
She outlasted my marriage. She spanned the lifetime of my daughter to date. She was a comfort to me, and, especially in her younger days, a menace to strangers, especially toddlers who reach, drawing blood on at least one occasion.
In the last years she developed diabetes. It was horrible to get blood from her ear, but the insulin shots were not so bad. She had a gastroenteritis, possibly food poisoning from her 100% canned diet being out too long. One day her hind legs stopped working well, possibly as a result of being pounced on yet again by our other fiesty young Calico, or maybe climbing up where she didn't belong (usually in search of food) and then jumping down from heights she had no business trying anymore. But she learned to walk again, held no grudges, and we thought she would beat a world record and live to 26.
Her final days ended in a hunger strike. It was a relief when her sugars were normal, but there was no coming back. She drank and peed but even though I put out her favourite tuna and fresh food twice a day, at most she would sniff, but for the first time in a long time, would not eat. She withered away, but purred and kept us company until the last two days, when she was so weak I carried her from the couch or bed to prevent her from trying to jump down the steps I had created. I slept beside her in the kitchen to wake to the sound of her falling downstairs. The last night she was too weak to even try and find a dark corner. She slept on my bed, and when I woke, it was to hear her laboured breathing, I petted her and sang until her breaths slowed and finally stopped. 4:49 am March 9, 2018 was her last breath. I closed her eyes and curved her body to look like she was sleeping.
I stayed awake until it was time to wake my daughter. We both wept with her, but managed to wipe our tears to catch the bus for school. She only ate one bite of breakfast.
I stamped her hand and sketched her in pastel before I took her to the vet. I was relieved when the food I returned was more than the cost of cremation. I kissed her head and passed her to the tech like a baby swaddled in a bathmat she used to love sitting on.
Now, one day later, her water dish is empty and Calico is taking up more space. We hear her and see Nancy Drew, but we are starting to rejoice that, although we are missing her, she is at peace.
