When she was 5, i took her and her sister from a friend who was having her 5th child. For 12 years, she has been my friend. Last night, at 3:05, she died.



She was 17. A few weeks ago, she had a stroke, and became extremely disoriented. She walked into doors and walls and such. So, yes, I saw it coming. And made certain I spent as much time as possible with her, pulling her up onto the bed to sleep every night, (since she had trouble walking and jumping since the stroke). Yes, I saw it coming, and was prepared for it. But she fought so hard at the end. Every other cat I have had has given up after one death throe. She went through 6. She fought so hard to hold on. i knew it was coming, when, yesterday afternoon, after I had replaced the insulation and siding molly tore off the house after my father left her tied up outside in a t-storm, I came in to hear her yowling. It took a while to find her. Her back legs were gone. So basically, it was a vigil from 4 pm to 3 am, as I watched her fight to stay alive. She fought so hard. I’m glad I didn’t take her for the needle. She was so angry to go.


update, june 24: this is where she rests, beneath the weeping grasses: