Fluffcat

Snow has gone to heaven. What started with a delicate sneeze ended two weeks later, despite all the best vet in the world could do, with putting her to sleep.

She came to me 10+ years ago, already grown and named, and already a royal pain in the ass, as the best cats are. Dogs have owners; cats have staff.

As self-absorbed as Garfield, she demanded food, attention and luxurious surroundings in equal measure, and was a past master at getting them. My Beloved and I liked to say that she had two college-educated people working full time to keep her in comfort.

She was the blonde joke of the cat world, too, not the sharpest knife in the drawer. One evening, as MB and I were enjoying a romantic dinner with votive candles lighted on the table in the deepening twilight, she jumped up on the far side of the table and proceeded to walk straight across the candles, lighting her luxuriant ruff on fire. As I sat in frozen horror in my chair, MB had the presence of mind quickly to pat out the flames, whereupon she jumped down with a disgusted look at being so manhandled, leaving behind two flabbergasted staff members and the rank smell of singed fur.

This was a cat with rights. If you happened to nudge her as she lay unseen under the dining room table, she calmly nipped your ankle to remind you of your place in the universe, that of the cat food delivery person who is not entitled to move the cat.

She had a delicate stomach and frequent hairballs. She woke me with insistent pats to my head in the predawn dark when she wanted breakfast. She was pushy and obnoxious and dumb as a box of rocks.

So, how did she worm her way into my heart and, now that she's gone, leave this big empty space?

I have indelible memories of her chin lifted in pleasure to my rubbing fingers, of her tail straight up in the air as she runs out to welcome the neighbor's dog who has been her friend since the puppy arrived 10 years ago, of her strolling nonchalantly 40 feet above the ground along the joists when our deck was being rebuilt, of her elongated shape stretched out in a sunbeam watching me for any kitchenward movement through slitted yellow eyes.

I will always define blissful contentment with this image: The bedroom is chilly because we have all the windows open to the fresh night air and the sound of bay waves lapping gently on the shore. I am under the covers snugly sandwiched between MB's big, warm, gently snoring body on one side and Snow's loudly purring warmth on the other. When I go to heaven, I hope it's just like that.

Goodbye, Fluffcat. You'll be missed.