Emily would have hated this blog, BlogPaws Senior Pet Month and this post about her. Yes, Emily was one of those cats. It's not that she really hated everything, She just wanted you to think she did. And she would hate that I told you that.
I met Emily the first day of winter break my first year of college, a few weeks into the first month in my first apartment. Bobbie Birdie lived with me but my mom and I decided it was best for my husky, Katie, to stay at my mom's house with her sister and a yard. Okay, my mom decided this. My mom was, of course, right. And continuing to teach me important responsible pet ownership rules I would carry with me my whole life. But that is now. Back then I was lonely for furry animal companionship. So I went to the Seattle Animal Shelter and there, in a top corner crate, was my first cat, Emily, hissing at me. I'm kidding. But she did bite me. It was a love bite. She and I truly had one of those magical love at first sight moments in the shelter... It makes my heart skip a beat to think about it even these 20 plus years later. She was my Emily, even though, when I was filling out the paper work to adopt her, they asked me her name and I didn't yet know it.
It wasn't that she was a grumpy cat. She was friendly and playful but she did it all under a "you mustn't notice me being friendly and playful" guise. I also had a "Dragon Kitty" nickname for her because I often had a feeling she wished she was invisible... and a very large fire breathing dragon. This was usually around dogs. Emily hated dogs. And I don't mean she sighed and tolerated them or that she ran the other way. I mean she chased after them full speed with the intent to kill. She escaped our apartment once to chase two passing rottweilers and I was lucky enough to grab her right before she jumped onto one of them. She bit my shoulder instead. Fortunately, as she aged and experienced kind dogs, she grew tolerant of them, but she would hate anyone except Tynan and, maybe, me to know that was how she felt.
Maybe it was because she was my first cat or that she really was the most wonderful furry black and white girl ever put on Earth, but I adored her. She always slept with me and she kneaded my head when we curled up at night in our younger years. I often feared I wouldn't be able to sleep without her. (And honestly, I don't sleep as well...) I still have a scar on my wrist from the time there was a fire in my apartment building and I had to evacuate Bobbie and her. I remember the feel of her silky fur and the sound of her dainty little meow.
I knew she was going to die. I called in sick from work for a whole week just to lie in bed with her. But she was still eating a little and still walking about being bossy and she didn't seem to be in pain. When Jason, my mom and I left for our annual Thanksgiving getaway I asked her if it was alright if I go and she gave me her very typical "I hate everything" answer by turning her head and trying to get away from me. She hated serious talks. This was the last time I saw her alive. She passed peacefully laying in her cushioned box in the sunny french doors of our south eastern most room the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I wish my Christmas kitty had made it to see one more Christmas but we put a framed picture of her under the tree where she'd have set up shop for the month. And I think she might not have hated that.