One horrible month

Today is a month since Sophie died. Saturday was four weeks. I still can't believe she's gone. It's so depressing.

 

Sophie chasing cobwebs outside the window.

 

A month since I've bought any cat food, treats, or litter.. A month since I cleaned a cat box (which sat there for a week after she died before I could bring myself to trash it). A month since I had to Feed The Kitty.

 

Today I finally was able to bring myself to pack up her stuff - her toys (catnip mouse and the laser pointer that hadn't been used since she was diagnosed with a heart murmur, but used to be a favorite), and her dishes into the cat carrier to go into storage. I'll deal with it later. Also later I will go through almost twenty years of paperwork from vet visits, but not yet. 

 

Some interesting Sophie factoids:

 

1. Her official birthday of September 5 (assigned to her by the vet that spayed her) was the day Wilma, my previous cat, died. Burbank Animal Shelter estimated she was about a year old and the vet apparently agreed and backdated her DOB a year. This was just after the Labor Day weekend, when I decided I was finally ready to get another cat and went to the shelter. Wilma had died the previous Labor Day.

2. I was going to name her Nora. I knew I was going to get a female cat and was planning on naming her after Nora Charles in the Thin Man films. I've always loved the character and how Myrna Loy played her (so smart, funny, and elegant). But when I got her, I learned that she had been at the shelter for about three months because when she was picked up as a stray, they discovered she was pregnant, so they kept her until she had her kittens and they were adopted out. When I first saw her at the shelter she still had her milk sacs. Because she had been there so long being called Sophie (and because I do think it's a really pretty name) I decided to keep it, figuring she was going through enough upheaval, and her name would be the only familiar thing when I got her home.

3. When I first saw her, she was on a ledge in her cage. When they opened it up so I could see her, she got down and let me pet her, then returned to her spot. I remember being struck by her apparent disinterest in the whole thing - it was like she was just going through motions she knew were expected. She really didn't bother to sell herself to me. But she was the one cat they had that day that fit my criteria:

• Young, because I didn't want to go through losing another cat anytime in the near future (and thanks to Sophie, I didn't for almost twenty years).
• Female, because male cats spray, so I've always had female cats.
• Short-haired, because Wilma was long-haired and left tufts of fur all over the place.
• Not calico or tortoise-shell because Wilma was calico and to me torties are just calicos without the white. These last two issues were because I didn't want my new cat to remind me of Wilma. 

Looking back on it, I didn't really put a lot of thought into the decision to take her. She fit the criteria so that was that. I petted her for a few seconds then said I'd take her. And the rest is history, or at least the last twenty years of my life. And it's a part of my life I'd like back.

 September 5, 2005 - April 25, 2026.