Good Morning Gentle Readers,
We said goodbye to that old Mama Cat this morning. Something happened a couple of weeks ago and she faded awfully fast. Up until now, she wasn't in pain, just weak, but that changed.
Even though she isn't really gray, she used to be the Gray Kitty (we're not really that good at naming cats). When she got older her name sort of morphed into the Mama Cat. Had more to do with seniority than maternal instincts, she bossed around every cat we owned like Gunny Hartman in Full Metal Jacket. She was tough, too. She once smacked a rattlesnake so many times that the snake was punch drunk. A dozen times, her paw literally a cartoon-like blur.
She came from White Cat's first litter around 1995 or so. A couple of years later, The White Cat would alert us that The Boy wasn't breathing upstairs.
She liked her food freshly killed or dry out of the bag. You could not tempt this cat with salmon, fresh cream, steak, or Fancy Feast. She'd turn up her nose at all of it. Except tuna juice. Tuna juice is the water that canned tuna is packed in. Not the tuna, the water, and she'd happily lap up all the tuna juice you cared to give her. Her last meal was tuna juice yesterday, but this morning she turned away from it without remark.
I'd like to bury her under the orange tree with the other cats who've left us, but I don't think we're getting her back.