I Bid Thee Farewell

Pussy Cat, aka, Queen of the Yard  1997-98 February 15, 2015

     Pussy Cat, aka, Queen of the Yard, age 17 plus, slipped through the veil Sunday, February 15, 2015 at 11:15 p.m.

     She was a good cat.  

     Pussy Cat lived the entirety of her years outdoors.  She was found, as a half grown kitten, under a bush in the neighbor's yard.  After three days of coaxing with a saucer of milk, she entered her domain, claimed it as her own and rarely left its boundaries.

     She was preceded by her companion of twelve years, a Sheltie Collie named Lady and the only cat love of her life, Tommy Boy, along with numerous other felines that graced her kingdom during her 17 year reign. 

     She attributed her longevity to never smoking or partaking of strong drink, but most importantly, never running in the face of danger.  There were many times she could be seen sitting steadily, quietly, staring down a member of the canine family that was four times her size.  Purina Cat Chow was the only food worthy of her palette and the occasional saucer of milk.  She knew the milk would not agree with her, but its taste was worth the bother. 

     She was not a people cat and survived many a family gathering or thundering grandchildren by retreating to the far corners of her kingdom, laying low until some sense of order was in place.

     During her last two winters she claimed a space in a small heated room in the garage.  She also developed a liking for the man of the house.  Each morning he would let her out while he went for the morning paper.  She would then wait patiently by the back door,  for him to leave for work, follow him slowly back to the garage where she knew he would open the door for her to return to her winter palace.  She requested him to pet her just the other day and he obliged....That was her farewell to him.

     Although she left no blood heirs to the throne, she is survived by her one remaining minion, Tigger, whom she did not like.  She ruled him with an evil eye and an iron paw.  Many times the paw smacked his head to remind him of his place in the courtyard.

     Tigger sat by her side during her last hours and when the end was near, took his rightful place in her straw lined box.  There was a reciting of the Lord's Prayer and a terribly botched rendition of the 23rd Psalm, followed by a question, "are there angels for cats?" 

     With that, she took her last breath and gave up her feline spirit.  Tigger sat up in the box and, like cats will do, watched something invisible cross the room and then stared intently out the window.

     Pussy Cat, she was a good cat.