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In early January of 1989 my wife and I obtained two cats from a woman who operated a private shelter. Together, Beau Brummel and Princess shared our house and our hearts for more than thirteen-and-a-half years.
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Princess was a small gray tabby, about two years old (maybe three) when she came to us. She previously had been adopted from a municipal shelter the day before she was scheduled to be killed. Her life thereafter was filled with brightness and curiosity, welcoming everyone who visited our home. She was not a cat that you gave some attention to and then went on about your business; rather, she assumed the part of lively participant in all household activities.
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Beau was ten months old and had been born at the private shelter to a semi-wild mother. He's mostly white with assorted black, tabby-patterned patches. He has always hated changes to his life, whether a new piece of furniture or an unfamiliar visitor. The first few days he spent with us, he hid. He's a sucker, however, for love and for good food; those attractions eventually convinced him that we were friends.
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Time passed.
Beau's health concerned us almost from the start. He developed rashes that were described as the result of begin "allergic to himself" and needed steroid treatment to control them. Then, in the spring of 2000, both cats were diagnosed with hyper-thyroidism. Beau's condition seemed to stabilize with daily Tapazole tablets added to his diet...and a small amount to ASA to help with his (mild, seemingly) arthritis.
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Princess reacted to the tablets by vomiting. We switched to a gel that was rubbed on the inside of her ear. Perhaps it slowed the progress of the disease, but it didn't control it. Her final deterioration was abrupt and shocking. On the morning of August 17 2002, we awoke to find her unable to stand, eat, or drink. We took a key member of our family to the vet and watched her die.
Although Princess and Beau were not allowed outside alone, we sometimes took them for supervised walks in the back yard. Princess loved to reach out from my arms to grab things and branches from the lilac tree were favorites. The spot beneath the lilac has been "officially" designated as her place as a way of focussing our memories. (Oddly, I then found the above photo of her visiting that exact spot...one I'd forgotten taking.)
To Beau, the guy who hates all changes, this was a change more terrible than he could ever have imagined.
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Saturday, September 14 2002, we picked up two cats from a foster home nearby. Willow is soft and gray with a little bit of tabby marking on her legs. She was born in November, 2001. She had a litter in mid-July 2002 that was mostly stillborn. The only survivor was Ashton...much darker, more brown, and distinctively tabby. Willow is sweet, friendly, and playful; Ash is a terror!
Again, Beau's not reacting well, but he has a habit of adapting...eventually.
You can see updated pictures of the cats as I find time to add new ones.
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Princess, I won't forget.
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