In September 1994, Antoine was born in a barn in New Mexico. He had giant paws that were far too big for his furball body. Because I was recovering from a broken heart, I brought him home with me. He nearly killed us both on the way when he scrambled out of my hands and down toward the brake pedal. I hadn't planned on getting a cat. Throughout his life, he was temperamental like me, hid behind couches (like me), wailed in the middle of the night, insisted on sleeping either on my chest, across my ankles or between my knees. For eighteen years, we lived together, ate my takeout, and, more recently, fell in love with TG. Last year, Antoine started to weaken and the last two months, he's been miserable. This morning, I decided to send him to that couch in heaven where I'm sure he's playing with his brother (also born in that barn) and his adoptive brother Jack. What a good kitty he was. Now I'm heartbroken again.
3 comments:
Losing a beloved kitty is indeed heartbreaking.
Antoine was a prince of cat. We will not see his likes again soon. His great accomplishments included hiding behind the sofa, meowing at inappropriate times, alternately and unpredictably being coy and forthcoming, and reading tarot cards more expertly and kindly than any living being. We will miss him enormously and forever.
Thanks for your kind words about my sweet boy. I hope he's eating Fancy Feast with salmon and mashed potatoes in heaven.
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