Week 6: Famous Last Words. My Possum.

So, this week. This week was end-of-the-world week. Our cat died. No warning. She was there, she was gone. Last Sunday I took a picture of her which I had put in my last words post; that was the last picture I took of her. I don't really even know what made me take that picture, but I am glad that I did. It's like some kind of sign, her all lit up like an angel with a halo sitting up there on the truck in the sunset. I rarely took pictures of her (she never quite figured out what to think about the phone). Here's the picture zoomed in:

And here she is in "come get me" mode, lounging down by the garage door where it's always cool; this was one of her hang-outs this summer, so I guess that is when I took this picture.

We found her about six years ago in the woods, starving, scared to death, and a complete mess (long-haired cats are not supposed to be roughing it in the woods). And she became our cat. Every day for these past six years she made my day a better day. Since I work from home, she was part of the whole day, from when I got up in the morning (go feed the cat...) till when I went to bed (time for treats) and in-between (comb the cat, change her water, more food, play with the cat, go for a walk with the cat, play with the cat some more).

Yeah, the end is part of every story. I've lost cats before. But Possum was really my cat more than any other cat I've had.

And no regrets. We had our routine, something good every day.

I've got a mountain of things to do this weekend (partly because this week got totally out of control...), and the thing I'm dreading most is packing away the cat things. We'll put the cat perches and the toys and the food bowl and the cat carrier, all that stuff, somewhere in the garage or the shed or wherever. Because, sooner or later, some other stray cat will no doubt show up who may or may not decide to stick around. But that cat won't be my Possum... and she was such a good cat.