No work today.  You know it’s the last week before break when the Mildly Mentally Retarded class at the alternative school gets grabbed by the person on the phone, so that the frantically-hitting-refresh person never has a chance.  I’m not holding my breath for tomorrow, either–it’s a scheduled half day anyway, which most people don’t take off, and I expected this week to be like this anyway.  The last week before winter break, I got one half-day, so technically I’ve already doubled the expectation for a last week before break.

It’s fine; I can use the time to get things ready.  A few weeks ago when tickets were really cheap, I considered the fact that it was my turn to travel and it would be about the same price as the gas to drive it (and cooler), and bought a round trip on Southwest so that I can spend spring break with Thomas.  Yay!  (This does, however, mean that I also had to set some money aside for doggie treats, since I’ll be meeting his furry roommate.)  I fly out the day after tomorrow.

Born: ?????

He was already a grown cat when I got him as a stray with no history.  We couldn’t find any way to tell what age he might be, so I have no idea when he was born.

Became my kitty-buddy: Early 2006

My sister found him in the Wal-Mart parking lot, meowing pitifully.  We strongly suspect he was dumped, because a few months later, he was missing for three weeks, for reasons unknown, and came home; any cat that remembered how to find his new home after three weeks didn’t get hopelessly lost on his own.  One theory was that his owner had died and the heirs didn’t want him, since he seemed to have been well cared for until recently–he was fixed and had what looked like old, well-healed scars from a line of stitches on his jaw.  But we never figured out why anyone would not want such a sweet cat.

While he was missing for three weeks, I got Squirrel and Panther, because I thought by then (2 1/2 weeks in) that he just wasn’t coming back.  As a result, Chilsa and the kittens didn’t take to each other right away, because he thought they were the intruders (he was there months before them) and they thought he was the intruder (they were there days before him).  However, he immediately started standing guard in the window and yowling at other cats to stay away.  He’d never done that before and I had to figure that he felt protective.  A week or so later, they were playing together and he was teaching them how to be cats.

Died: March 3, 2009

He seemed completely normal and healthy all day.  Looking back, he never asked to be let out, so now I wonder if he knew something was coming and wanted to spend all day with his family.

He spent the night before, and much of the morning, curled up by my feet.  He did this most nights.

During the day, he “helped” me with a crochet project, licked my arm, chased the kittens around, curled up on my lap…did all the normal things that were part of his kitty life.  He continued to bounce around for most of the evening, until I heard a thump across the room, looked up, and saw that my big grey cat was laying down funny.

I went over to see if he needed help.  At first he could only move his head, then not even that.  I flicked his tail, petted him, rubbed his ears, trying to get a response.  I talked to him, and he tried to talk back–I heard what sounded like it almost would have been a meow but his mouth wouldn’t quite open.  One moment his eyes were looking at me; the next moment, his eyes were empty.  My kitty-buddy was gone.

At least he had a good last day.  At least he didn’t have time to suffer.  At least…at least…a million at leasts don’t change the fact that it’s so quiet without him to start up a game of chase with the other two.

I will never again come home and find Chilsa waiting either by the door or, if I’m running late, out by my parking.  He did that for the last time on Monday night, when I got home from CAP at about 10, and walked with me, almost tripping me a few times, to the apartment door.

I will never again have to tell him not to bite my arm after licking a few times.  I’d let him bite me a dozen times a day if it meant I’d have him back.

I will never again have to divert him licking away from my nose.  I’d put up with cat breath if it meant I’d have him back.

I will never again almost have to fight with him for the phone while I talk to my boyfriend.  I’m not sure how Chilsa knew, but he would rub up against the phone when Thomas called.  They got along fine, the time they were around each other, but I didn’t think cats used phones.

He loved living here–at the old apartment, he was indoor-only.  Here, I let him go outside, where there are trees to climb and birds to watch.  He would sit on the steps and look at the grass area next to the dumpster, where one of the older ladies in the complex leaves birdseed out; it was his Food Channel.

He’s done shredding carpets, chasing the kittens, sticking his face in catnip-filled scratching pads, and following me to the laundry room.  Exactly what he’s doing now, I don’t know, but there would have to be a serious design flaw in the universe for him not to have a soul, especially given some of the people that, by all accepted standards, do.

If there’s any fairness, it involves playing with kittens or being cuddled by someone.  Maybe with some catnip.

Good-bye, Chilsa.