Our cat Lily died early Sunday morning. She was fifteen years old.
I got her (and her brother Oscar) right after I graduated from college.
I didn’t know it at the time, but she was sick when I brought her home from the pound. She had earmites and ringworm and chlamydia of the eye (no joke). But she pulled through. She was a tough kitten and grew into a tough cat. She had a ferocious spirit and an iron will. She was loving but highly opinionated.
The girl got around, following the course of my adult life up and down (and up again and down again) the east coast. She lived in nine homes in four states. She survived a fall out a bedroom window, three babies, and more than one 24-hour car ride. She weathered it all with patience and dignity. She was a good girl.
And I like to think she had a good life.
With a few notable exceptions.
When the kids woke up this morning, we told them that Lily was gone. The concept is still strange to them. Alden wanted to know when we’d see her again. Kato looked around and confirmed that she was not there. We did our best to explain, but questions remain. Alden thought it would be nice to write Lily a card.
Here’s the cover.
And the inside.
And the back.
Thanks for all these great years, Lily. We love you and will miss you.
No one more than Oscar.