The Little One

Dear Friends,

Yesterday my husband and I buried our "little one," our little black and white cat, the shy-est cat in the world, who had been our little one for 7 years. Squeak came to us as a shy cat, and she died a shy cat. We were unable to get her into a box to take her to emergency after she developed convulsions. Finally, after enticing her with a can of tuna for a long time, she put half her body into the cat box and we pushed her in and snapped it shut.

At the vets, our little one was as calm as she gets for a few moments, until the doctor attempted an internal investigation of affairs. Then the cat got furious and squirmed her way out of the helper's grasp, onto the floor, and hid in a tube that was part of the x-ray equipment at the vets. There she stayed, on her back paws, until over an hour later the vet injected her through her back paw and pulled her out of the tube. Not before the staff had to take part of the equipment apart, however.

Squeak was a sweet cat. That's the best word for her - sweet. Whatever she carried with her from her birth or from her early days never left her, but she had a sweetness about her that was hers alone. For the past 4 years she's lived as happily as she ever got in the shed in our back yard, having proved herself unable to live in the house. In our years together, she spent several months scrapping for food after she fell out of a second story window, already having been confined to the front hall. We were completely confused about how to take care of her, even then.

Squeak was shy and even kind of sad. She knew how to receive but not how to give very well. But she gave us herself, her sweet, sad presence. I am grateful for the joy she brought me, and now I am taking in her leaving us, so quickly and so quietly.

Warmly,

meb