My apartment mate's cat Tommi (the *blert* cat) died this morning. She'd been here for far longer than I've been visiting this building (1998); virtually every bad situation I've had since living here ended with "and then I skritched Tommi (as I did just last night) and things were a bit better." I have to say- as irritated as I've been with Z lately, he moved heaven and earth to try to keep her alive; he's been sobbing all morning. He and his girlfriend just left, to go bury her at his girlfriend's country house; there was a box with a sign with "Tommi" and a personal message from him on it; I added one of my own, before they headed down the stairs.
Too many memories, so I'll choose one: when I was leaving the house, if she was in a good mood, she'd follow me down the hallway, to the top of the stairs, looking at me as if to say, you aren't really going out there, are you? I'd say goodbye, and keep walking; she'd stare after me for a moment, run back down the hall to follow me, and finally stick her head out through the bars of the stairway rail. (Seeing her little head floating there, seemingly unsupported, I used to call out, "goodbye, Zardoz kitty.") In utter disbelief that I was still heading for the door, she's run down to the next level (she never went beyond this), and we'd repeat.
Goodbye, Zardoz kitty. Sleep well, little one.
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