Yesterday we lost our little gray girly cat, Stella Luna Andrews.
We got her in 1997 in Ellensburg. Her mother, a Siamese named Esmerelda, had been rescued from a house during a police raid, and a coworker of mine who did animal rescue saved us a kitten. We got Griffin at the same time, and they grew up together.
Stella grew into a beautiful, plump silver tabby with green eyes, natural eye makeup and a spotted tummy.
She was not always dignified.
She loved crinkly things. We always kept a few newspapers on her favorite chair, and sometimes she slept in the recycling bin.
She was beautiful and sweet-tempered (except when crossed by another cat, in which case whap!). She often lay with her paws crossed in front of her, like a lady. She would carry pieces of food away from the cat dish and into the dining room to eat. And if you put your hand down to her, she would rise up like a meerkat to rub her cheeks against your fingers.
She was very affectionate and loved laps, and would often make the rounds of dinner guests, especially tall light-haired men (…?) When she went through thyroid treatment, she was radioactive for a few days and couldn’t understand why nobody would allow her on their laps. She could be very aggressive when demanding attention, resorting to the “slow ooze” when necessary.
When we brought the dog home, she did not approve, but they eventually sorted out a hierarchy. Stella was the boss.
For as long as we’ve been in our current house, Stella has had supreme ownership of the bottom bookshelf by the furnace vent…
…until she got sick. Then Mickey started to butt in, sometimes even washing her. She didn’t think much of that.
Yesterday she was very weak and beginning to lose control of her bladder. I made a nest for her by the fire, with a waterbowl nearby for her constant thirst, and kept her company until it was time to go.
We will miss her.