Some would say that she was just a cat. And maybe to some, that would be true. But she was much more to me.
She was the cat who had to be in charge and always, always be first in everything. First to eat when the food dish was filled each morning. First to use the clean litter box, whether she really needed to or not. First to jump up on my bed at night to be petted and have her ears scratched and belly rubbed.
She was the one cat, out of my three, who claimed my lap if I sat in my recliner. She was the one who would nudge the others out of the way because, after all, it was her right as top cat to have my undivided attention. And if she didn't get it, I got a head bump to remind me of my duties to her.
She had a need to help me, whether I needed her help or not. If I cleaned out a cupboard, she was there to inspect it to make sure it was done right. She spent countless hours laying on top of the chest freezer in my kitchen, supervising whatever I was doing. She was the only one who didn't run and hide when the vacuum cleaner came out. She was fearless.
So when she became so ill that there was no hope for her, a decision had to be made. I didn't want to make that decision, but neither could I stand having her suffer. When she could no longer eat and showed no interest in what was going on around her, it was time.
Kiley was a good old cat. She was my buddy. While she lived with me, she was a happy, contented cat, in all her queenly glory. She was affectionate and she made me laugh...out loud. I will miss her.
Mom of four and Grandma of six, who writes about family events both past and present as well as anything else that happens to come to mind, shares new photos as well as old and who enjoys life in general.