Poor not-so-little kitty

Old BF had two cats. He was silly about them. They were his babies. Both were strays, both rescued on rainy, stormy nights.

The second one was captured among the carts in the Wal-Mart cart corral. She was tiny, and the guy who found her left her on old BF's doorstep, right in the middle of our argument about him actually cheating on me and sleeping with his neighbor. After nursing her to health, he actually gave her to the neighbor. She gave her a stupid name and mistreated her, so he took her back. Yeah, that woman was a gem....

Anywho, he renamed her. Now, if anyone out there knows Irish Gaelic, you know what an impossible language it can be, especially for spelling. So, he had some fun with her name and gave it a Gaelic spelling. I actually can't type it here because there's characters in it that my computer won't do. Suffice it to say, her name was pronounced Maggie.

Maggie immediately started gaining weight. Pretty soon, she was a Fat-Kitty. She didn't eat a whole lot, but she was rotund for some reason. Her "sister" kitty would jump up on a favorite stool and perch there to have a visit with you. Maggie tried it and took the whole damn stool down. Here's a snap of her playing on the stairway.


She also liked to hide in the couch. If she happened to see you sitting on it, though, she brought a very concerned "meow" to your face. "Uhm....you're sitting in my hidey-hole." She also really hated it when people closed the bathroom door. You'd see her paws swiping underneath it at you, like "Open up!"

When I'd arrive at the apartment, I'd holler "Maggie-May!" and I'd hear her coming to greet me. "Meow! Meow!" It was sweet. Especially from a cat so territorial as Maggie. Feline guests were not welcome. She didn't even like it when they hung out at their own houses; she'd hiss and growl when she saw them in their own windows.

That's actually one of the hard parts about not being with old BF. I miss "the girls." I loved them. And they loved me. I'd been around their whole lives.

But Maggie's story is now told. She passed on this morning, at the ripe old age of four.

Old BF's move to Dallas was too much for her, aggravating a condition that was probably already there. She'd been hiding under beds and not eating. She'd gotten thin. She stopped purring on Saturday, so he took her to the doctor today. She was in acute liver failure. Her suffering is over. She died in his arms.

Goodbye, Miss Maggie-May. I love you and miss you, and will always remember.