Simba

Once upon a time a time I arrived home from work to find my husband holding a teeny little kitten.  His fur was silky orange with gentle white stripes in his tail.  His eyes were a striking gold and the markings around his face were exceptional.  He was SO beautiful.  His name was originally Finch but such a remarkable looking cat deserved a more regal name.  We named him Simba.

Despite our best intentions, Simba and Apollo slept on our bed.  One curled up behind my bent knees and then other against my stomach.  My kitties were shy, especially around kids but they were wonderfully cuddly and sweet to us.  Being pregnant set off allergies to the cats, so when we moved, they were promoted to garage cats.  They got cuddled less but their shy nature was more suited to the space and getting to roam the fields behind out neighborhood in search of mice and birds which they generously left dead at my feet. 

In the past few years they rid the neighborhood of mice and always met us at the door in the morning.  The girls love them like crazy and I have to admit they seem to favor A with a willingness to go to her and tolerate her enthusiastic cuddles and being carried.  But she was the one who fed and watered them daily, sometimes several times a day, making them fat and lazy. 

Last winter, Simba lost a significant amount of weight.  The vet diagnosed him with diabetes.  And combined with some other concerns in his history, we decided against the invasive and expensive treatment program.  We focused on giving him extra love and keeping him well fed and hydrated as best we could.  When we returned from our two week vacation, we found a very sick kitty waiting for us.  The slow deterioration had become a rapid decline.  The vet concluded he is in kidney failure.  He weighs less than five pounds, is losing body temperature, is lethargic and moves with obvious difficulty.    Husband is still out of town, which I suspect made it really hard on him to not be able to say goodbye and especially to help his girls through this.  Fortunately my dad was here today and despite being highly allergic to cats, stayed with me every step.

I brought the little white box home and we took the girls with us to bury him in grandpa’s horse pasture as has been the tradition for husband’s family.  The girls had a rough time, especially A who sobbed so hard it broke my heart all over again.  At L’s request, they wrote message to him on the white box.  E suggested they find stones to mark the spot where we would bury him.  And A laid the box in the hole Papa prepared for him.

Goodbye my beautiful kitty.  Rest well.