Only Two Left...
Only two left of the six kittens born in our house on September 28, 1991--the last two sisters, Frieda and Cissy.
At least, that's what I believe. I haven't heard a thing about what became of the kitten we called "Dirt Nose" for the black spot on his nose after we sent him to Nanwalek to live with an older gentleman there. I checked on him a few days later and the woman who had arranged for me to send him over there said he was sleeping in the old man's bed, so I hope it was a good life for him.
His brother, Frosty, found a good home with friends of friends and I ran into the woman in the vet's office in Soldotna about five years ago. They loved Frosty and he was doing great. I hope he had a good life, too.
The calico sister--the one I had wanted to keep for myself--was actually the first to find a home because she was so pretty. She went to a cat-lover in Homer that I had met through Homer Animal Friends, but since she was allowed outside to hunt, I doubt she is still alive. Outdoor cats just don't last as long in general. I know she was loved and that's all I could wish for her.
We kept Demi and three of her daughters--the Three Sisters--girls in various combinations of orange and white. They were a cohesive family unit, our own little pride within the larger population of cats. They groomed each other, slept together and defended each other in the skuffles of cat-dom.
We lost big, gentle Lucy to cancer two years ago. I am still very sad about it and miss her quiet companionability. Temperatmentally, she was probably most like her mother (who is persisting on in apparent good health though she is in her late teens by now) and you couldn't want a better, more basic cat.
Now, Frieda is losing weight and the spectre of cancer looms once again over the little family. This may be her last birthday, so I will spend it being glad for her and her sister and their littermates who brought laughter and happiness into our house on this day in 1991.
At least, that's what I believe. I haven't heard a thing about what became of the kitten we called "Dirt Nose" for the black spot on his nose after we sent him to Nanwalek to live with an older gentleman there. I checked on him a few days later and the woman who had arranged for me to send him over there said he was sleeping in the old man's bed, so I hope it was a good life for him.
His brother, Frosty, found a good home with friends of friends and I ran into the woman in the vet's office in Soldotna about five years ago. They loved Frosty and he was doing great. I hope he had a good life, too.
The calico sister--the one I had wanted to keep for myself--was actually the first to find a home because she was so pretty. She went to a cat-lover in Homer that I had met through Homer Animal Friends, but since she was allowed outside to hunt, I doubt she is still alive. Outdoor cats just don't last as long in general. I know she was loved and that's all I could wish for her.
We kept Demi and three of her daughters--the Three Sisters--girls in various combinations of orange and white. They were a cohesive family unit, our own little pride within the larger population of cats. They groomed each other, slept together and defended each other in the skuffles of cat-dom.
We lost big, gentle Lucy to cancer two years ago. I am still very sad about it and miss her quiet companionability. Temperatmentally, she was probably most like her mother (who is persisting on in apparent good health though she is in her late teens by now) and you couldn't want a better, more basic cat.
Now, Frieda is losing weight and the spectre of cancer looms once again over the little family. This may be her last birthday, so I will spend it being glad for her and her sister and their littermates who brought laughter and happiness into our house on this day in 1991.
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