Patches didn’t wake up this morning. She was my last living link with Jack. Life just got a little bit harder.
She assumed she was Queen of the Universe; I explained to her several times that she was the Princess, that Jack and I were ahead of her in the Queen category.
She took the catnip talk to heart...she didn't inhale, but she loved to eat it.
She chose us at the rescue shelter. When the associate pulled her out of her cage, Patches leaped onto Jack's chest and howled, "Get me outta here!" She would not let go. I like to think she chose well.
She was abandoned by a couple. Neither wanted her, I guess, and a neighbor saw Patches in the window. The neighbor knew the couple split.
She found hidey holes and lofty heights in our house we didn't know existed.
After Jack died, she became incredibly important to me and I spoiled her even more than when she had two big two-legged critters catering to her every need.
One time I was having a check-up and the doctor asked me if I had psoriasis. I didn't understand the question and she pointed to my forearm. "Oh," I said. "That's cat." When I sat at the desk, Patches would hop up for scritches. Because I'm quite fat, the top of my belly made a great, soft ledge for her and, when the scritches and belly rubs really got her off, she'd dig her claws into my arm. I'll be sad when that heals.
She liked sleeping on the bed, but she rarely slept beside me. I woke up to her snuggled up against me. Did she know she was dying and figured that was a way to show her love? I don't know. I think she knew she was loved. I hope so.
We were quite a trio, her, Jack, and me. Then we became quite a duet.
I don't think I want another cat. Or pet. Or person. But a line from Garth Brooks' "The Dance" keeps coming to mind: "Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance."
Love you, Patches.