Emma

Emma didn’t adopt us so much as commandeer us.

She was our neighbor’s cat, handed down from her sister in anticipation of her daughter’s birth.

The first time I cat-sat for her, she ran across the room and bit my hand, drawing blood. I knew we would have an interesting relationship.

Amber was the first to crack her icy temperament. She’d sit on the couch, quietly, on her hands, not even looking at Emma. Eventually, slowly, Emma would approach. Later, she’d hop up on the couch. With patience, she’d let us pet her. All on her terms.

Soon, our neighbor Susan got a new girlfriend, with a new cat. Emma did not approve. She was always an indoor/outdoor cat and had free run of the neighborhood, but somehow, she always ended up on our front stoop, meowing to be let inside.

She would stop by for visits, with the understanding (solely on our part) that we weren’t getting a litter box, and we weren’t getting food. At dusk, we’d set her back outside on the stoop, and let her wander back across the street.

After a few months, she’d just meow to come back inside. We eventually relented and got her a litter box and some food. She never used a water bowl. Always expected to drink from a glass, and never on the floor. I only just this morning collected her rocks glass to be cleaned and brought back in rotation in our glass cabinet.

When she wasn’t drinking water from glasses, she was swiping your beer in a bottle. We always gave her the empties when we were done.

In November of 2009, before a two week trip out of town, she fell off our bed and hurt her hip quite badly. For those two weeks she stayed on the guest bed and didn’t move. Amber feared the worst, and I got fairly constant updates. Four weeks after I returned, she was back to normal. A sprained hip was the best diagnosis we could get from the vet. From then on, she walked with a slight limp. Or a swagger.

In November of 2010, while we were away in Argentina, she started to decline. A friend who was watching her reported that she wasn’t eating and that her meow was different. Indeed, it was louder and rougher than before. After our return, she ate a little, but basically started a fast that lasted until the end.

She began walking with her head cocked to one side, which we armchair diagnosed as a stroke. Last week, I started making enquiries with vets who would make house calls. Monday, I made the appointment.

Yesterday morning, while Lex and I were sleeping in, Amber collected her frail and emaciated body in a towel and brought her to our bed to snuggle with us all. After Amber went to work, and I returned from taking Lex to school, I moved her back to Lex’s bed, still nestled in the towel. Her breathing was shallow, but she was purring. When I checked on her later in the day, she was still.

I’ll miss that cat, and I’ll never forget all the love and pain she caused. She was a good cat.

Goodbye, Emma.