Sad news. Micki, who I was starting to think was going to live forever, had to be put to sleep today. In the past two weeks, she lost weight, her appetite, and was completely dehydrated. I knew something was wrong when she stopped trying to kill Lucy.
She wasn’t the world’s nicest cat, and she surely was one of the more insane ones, but I loved her. I was 13 when we got her, and that’s the part that hurts the most. She’s been part of my life for more than half of it.
All the while, she never stopped acting like a kitten. She was energetic, playful, annoying, and a ball of cuteness. For some reason we could never figure, she was afraid of every person in the world except me, SisterAlyson and The Grey Boy. She was even afraid of my dad, who diligently fed her every morning during the years my sister and I were away at college. Her fear of people meant I was the only one who got to revel in the cute things that she did: standing on her hind legs when food was coming, going nuts if I made popcorn, waffles, or ate yogurt (her favorite people foods), and purring like a motor car while sitting on my computer. At least I got some photos that captured her essense.
I’ll miss you, kitty.
One time, I “let her write a blog post.” For archives on Micki The Cat, click here.
