In memory of Sissy

Last Thursday I had to put my cat to sleep. 

It sucked!

Sissy had been with me for over twelve years.  She wasn’t only my companion, but Pan Cat’s buddy as well. 

Pan is black as midnight, mysterious, with a hint of wildness, my muse, my familiar, my witch cat.  Sissy, on the other hand, was reserved, quiet, and shy.  In fact, friends thought she was a figment of my imagination as she would run and hide the minute they came to the door and not reappear until they left. 

At all times, Sissy was the perfect Southern belle, a lady, a diva.

Every morning she helped me get ready for work.  Sitting on my bathroom vanity she would stick her head into my makeup bag making sure I remembered the mascara.  After applying blush, I would make a few quick brush strokes to her cheeks and nose as well.  Dusty Rose was her favorite. 

Sissy loved bling.  I’d find jewelry in strange places—rings under the bathroom rug, earrings in the bed.  My jewelry box was a playground of delight and I’d often catch her pawing at the bobbles as if trying to decide what to wear that day.

Even though always the lady, Sissy did have a wild side.  After all, she was a cat.  She’d pin her little ears back, race through the house, and tackle anything that moved.  Quite the mouser, that little gray diva cat. 

Then, one day, without warning, she got sick.

I made a deal with her—as long as she ate and drank and wasn’t in pain, I would take care of her.  But the minute that all changed, I would put her down.  For two months she honored that agreement, but last Wednesday she crashed and burned.  She hurt.  Tore my heart from my chest.  Thru the night I held her, brushed her, and sang lullaby’s in her ear.  Anything to soothe her and let her sleep.  Tears running down my face, I told her how much I loved her, how beautiful she was, and what a honor it was to be her mama.  I would always remember her.

Then, I told her I was going to put her down, but not to be afraid.  I would be there to hold her hand.  My brother would be waiting on the other side to take care of her. 

She understood. 

So, in the ice and snow I drove Sissy to the vet, stood bravely by her side, kissed and hugged her, and said my last goodbye. 

She’s feeling much better now.

Some people claim animals don’t have souls.  I have one word for them—bullshit! 

Pets are God’s unconditional love and acceptance wrapped in fur with tails and four paws—or feathers, or fins. It is ridiculous to think HE would give his ultimate gift of love to mankind and not give them souls.


Others say that our pets resemble us.  Maybe it’s the other way around.  I have Pan’s wild, witchy side, but I also have Sissy’s reserved, shy side as well.  Who knows?

All I know for certain is the world would suck without the Sissy cats!

Rest in peace, my little diva.