Micky was born to my brother-in-law’s cat Ronnie on July 4th 1996. It was a big surprise, but Ronnie was more a feral cat than a pet and never spent much time with humans. She however appreciated it very much that she had a quiet place where she could raise her two kittens.
Of course we had to take a look. And of course Micky chose my husband to be her human. My husband grew up with cats, I wasn’t so sure if it was a good idea to have one – I feared the sharp claws and teeth. But I was outnumbered, and so three months later we started our life under the paw. Micky was beautiful, and she knew it. She was a diva, but also affectionate and playful. She moved houses with us twice, and it was clear that her humans were more important to her than the place she lived in. Later, when Sammy and Jackie joined us, she raised them as if she had given birth to them.
As I was concerned, I fell in love with her very quickly and loved having her next to me at night. She mostly was in good spirits and purred a lot. And she was bossy, but loving at the same time.
After her fifteenth birthday we noticed that she gasped for air after climbing the stairs to the first floor. The vet diagnosed her with heart failure. We were given a lot of pills and the vet made sure we were aware of the fact that Micky maybe didn’t have much time left. “We have seen cats with heart failure that live a few years, others a few weeks”, he said. Micky never was her confident and friendly self again, she fought us tooth and nail when we made her swallow the pills and tried to hide all the time. We finally had to admit that she would never adjust to this new life and decided to let her go, when we found her dead in the garden on a wonderful warm, sunny Sunday. Thank you for teaching me how to be under the paw and for your love, which you gave to us all so freely. Until we meet again!
Viola's Daily Musings 