Goodbye, Baby.

Baby has been my cat since I was 10 years old. The summer Adele was first here, our "exchange student" from Belfast, Ireland, who has now become my sister, was when Baby came into our lives. It was pouring out one night, and Adele, my brother Nick and I saw this small gray cat outside. She came up onto our deck and we asked my parents if we could feed her, and we did. I don't remember exactly what happened after that, but either that night, or shortly thereafter, we let Baby in, and we kept her. She was ours. A cat, finally!

She was a wild woman in her younger days, our Baby. My favorite memories of her almost always include her scaling or climbing things. At Christmas, she would leap up onto our crappy fake Christmas tree. Imagine seeing a cat hanging there, amongst the ornaments and lights. When she escaped outside, she would let us know she wanted to come back in... by climbing all the way up the screen door and hanging out at the top of it, claws in and belly facing us, three feet off the ground. And my favorite? Yet another time Baby got outside and let us know she wanted to come back in... at the upstairs window. Yes, she got up onto the roof somehow, and ventured over to one of the upstairs windows and began to scratch. We opened the window for Baby, our diva cat. She wouldn't have had it any other way. We laughed so hard that night, and wondered in amazement how she got up there.

Baby was incredibly skinny, dainty and petite, but so feisty and full of life. She would pick a place to sit, and you wouldn't dare move her, lest you get your hand scratched off. I liked this about Baby, even admired it. She was strong willed, even though she weighed less than six pounds. We often joked that she was bitchy, but we wouldn't have her any other way, not really. She sat there contentedly all the time, her eyes at half mast, looking like she didn't give a damn, EVER. You'd call her name and she'd barely glance in your direction, far too busy sitting pretty to give you a second thought.

Baby really was a diva. You could pet her, but only on her terms, and if you ever tried to pick her up, she'd squirm away from your body, arms out, pushing against your chest. She was not much of a lap sitter, and certainly not one for affection, but I remember this: she used to sleep on the foot of my bed every night (until my mom relocated her to the upstairs permanently; our boy cat, Stanley, is quite a bully), and one night in middle school, I was crying in bed over something. Baby, our standoffish girl, promptly came over to me, sat on my lap, and began head butting me in the face. She was trying to comfort me through my sadness. She never willingly sat on my lap again, but she somehow knew that I needed her right there and then, my Baby.

Baby used to knead the living day lights out of various blankets and whatever else she could find. She would stand there and knead for upwards of an hour, and it would drive me nuts, but now I miss the little movement of her paws, up and down, over and over again. One time we even put her on a leash and brought her outside. She got low to the ground and began slinking around really slowly. She had no idea what was going on, and she hated it. We laughed our heads off, but soon relieved her of the leash, never again attempting such a thing.

Baby got older, as we all do, and was recently diagnosed with Pancreatitis. She became lethargic, eating less than usual, and sleeping nearly all of the time, hiding under the bed, no longer herself. Our spirits were lifted when she began on some medication, and we saw some improvements. She was no longer her feisty self, her zest had left her a couple of years earlier as she transitioned from middle age to old, but she was still our diva, lying in the sunny patches, eyes half closed, not giving a damn. She didn't scratch anymore, or climb things, or make me laugh, but she still made me smile with her attitude and silly face that looked mad nearly all of the time.

But on May 19th, when I was at work, my mom noticed some really strange behavior. Baby wouldn't come out from under the bed; she was breathing heavy and looked funny. She rushed her to the vet, and she had to be put down immediately. She died almost instantly. I never got to say goodbye to my little gray companion of 12 years.

So, I guess this is for you, Baby. I will love you forever. Thank you for the laughter, the scratches, the comfort you gave me when I needed it. You will always be our Baby.

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."