My Dead Cat Lives Under Our Tree

Well, really under the rock that's under the tree. This is a far cry from my long-ago threat/wish to have her stuffed and placed on the mantel when it was her time. (This statement might have been made during her first birthday kegger.)

I'm not obsessive about pets, but this cat was a talisman during some of the most significant events in my life - leaving college, having children, the upheaval of a divorce, two cross-country moves, the miracle of meeting my husband, my daughter's diabetes diagnosis, another cross country move. Ashley was a little gray thread that kept everything from being too disjointed.

She taught me about responsibility and seeing something through to the end. Understand, this was not a nice animal - she was surly, prone to biting and really not interested in humans other than me and eventually Brad. She also had a little hacking problem. Nobody could stand her. But no matter how much money she cost and the little return she seemed to provide for her care and luxurious lifestyle, I could never give her up. She depended on me and faithfully fulfilled my one request of a cat - sleep on my feet at night and keep 'em warm. My bonus came on sick days when she would curl up by my chest.

Late in life, she started going outside for little adventures, having been an indoor cat for better than 8 years. She killed and ate a bird sans front claws, poked her eye on a cactus, coexisted with the rattlesnakes and coyotes and had an uncanny knack for finding her way back, no matter how many different places we lived.

I guess it is fitting that her last chapter was to accompany me from Texas to Boston - again. She was not well, but she behaved on the plane, saw us through the move into our new house, managed to terrorize our neighbors cat, spend some time sunning on the deck and then when we were all settled, she just laid down. Her 15 years of work was finally done; look what the cat brought home.