Requiem

Well, the era has ended. Dementia Kitty has crossed the Rainbow Bridge to go cavort in the catnip fields and dine on tuna tartar every day.

I know that Supermodel Supreme and the Prince of Purrsia were there, waiting to show her the best spots in the catnip fields, and that Couch Potato, Neuroses the Swift, and The Big Fella barked their greetings to their old friend and will all guard her, sleep with her, and offer to share their dog biscuits with her. Which she'll try, just because, hey, they might taste good.

We got Dementia Kitty as a kitten, back when her name was Destructo Kitty. She was your "typical" tuxedo American shorthair, which is the cat lover's way of saying she was a black and white alley cat that looked like all the other black and white alley cats that everyone seems to have and take LOLcats pictures of. What made her special was that she was ours and we were hers, just as everyone else's pets are special because they belong to those families and their personalities mix in and become a part of what makes your family what it is.

Well, she did have one other thing that set her apart -- her appetite for destruction. Pound for pound, DK was the most destructive animal we've ever had, even surpassing The Big Fella's puppyhood (and that's saying a lot). I've lost count of the number of pillows and waterbed bumpers and bath mats and throw rugs and such destroyed by her in any number of ways (and yes the #1 way is the way every cat lover and owner is thinking of right now), sometimes out of pique, sometimes out of anger, sometimes out of boredom, sometimes just for cat snickers and giggles. But she was always loving, always loyal, and always hungry.

Believe me, if there was one thing that cat loved, and you can be sure that there was, it was her food. And us. Even as she succumbed to the cat version of Alzheimer's, she loved her food and her people. My joke that was said more in truth than in jest was that when this cat was tired of canned food she would be tired of life. She went off the food a couple of days ago, but never off the people, managing a weak purr for all of us in her last night with us.

She was the chicklet's cat and, at the end, she wanted to, and got to, leave our family the way she came into it -- sleeping in bed with the chicklet, while said chicklet told her how much she loved her and how glad she was that DK was her kitty.

The rest of the Killer Kitties, His Highness Lord Ebol and Squirrel, are adjusting, as are the Canine Death Squad. They all said their goodbyes over the past few days, and all shared with us today, one by one, that they were clear that DK's soul had left her body.

For some of our pets (the Prince of Purrsia and Couch Potato in particular), it was a short life but a merry one. For DK, it was a merry long life, well lived out loud. Unlike most of our pets who are or were rescues, DK never knew a day of hunger, a day without shelter, or a day without love. DK was part of our life for over 18 years. She moved with us from California to Phoenix, from our apartment to the Casa, and outlived at least three pets I thought would last with us longer. She was a survivor, a big eater, a lover, and a fighter.

But most of all she was our cat. And, based on how she lived and enjoyed her life, that's all she really ever wanted to be.