Nutmeg, my furry companion for more than nine years, crossed the Rainbow Bridge last Friday, after a long illness. She was a rescue cat, found in a culvert with her kittens when she was a couple of years old. By the time I met her at Second Chance Pets, her kittens had been adopted and she was ready for a life of leisure. That is to say she was prepared to be a couch potato for the rest of her life.


She was affectionate and laid back, with a loud purr and a sandpaper tongue, with which she loved to wash my face. She loved ice cream and spaghetti sauce (no, not together). She was overweight by nature and never saw the kitchen counter, but she had her favorite places on the living room couch and my bed. She upheld the cat’s tradition of never allowing a bed to be changed without feline assistance, and nothing beat sleeping on a towel warm from the dryer.


Early in December she lost her appetite, a marked change for her, and we began a series of visits to the vet. She had severe arthritis in her spine, but a battery of tests didn’t turn up much else, despite her obvious digestive problems. Steroid shots helped for a while, but when those stopped working, the vet diagnosed her problem as lymphoma. Gradually she stopped eating, but she still climbed into my lap to sleep in the evening, until at last she let me know it was time.


When I started to put her things away over the weekend, I realized that even our furry friends leave the bits and pieces of a life behind. From time to time I go to estate sales with my friend Gerry Bartlett. Gerry has an antique business and looks for treasures for her shop. I occasionally buy something for myself (a book and two movies at the last one, a turtle carved from tiger eye not too long ago), but I remind myself that I don’t need more “stuff.”


Seeing the material remains of someone’s life and household can be interesting, but I also find it a bit depressing. The contents of the kitchen spread all over the counters. Souvenirs of a stranger’s long ago vacations. Books, some well worn, some never opened. Clothing and shoes and linens. I hate to think of that happening to the contents of my house one day, but I’m not sure how to avoid it.


I thought about that as I gathered up Nutmeg’s possessions and decided what to do with them. I expect another cat will find her way into my life eventually, so I cleaned the litter box and stashed it in the storage closet, along with food dishes, mats, comb, brush, and nail clippers, a few toys, and the doggy steps Nutmeg needed to make it onto the couch the last few months. Toys that showed years of wear I threw away, along with half a dozen of those corrugated cardboard scratching pads, which Nutmeg loved.


She didn’t love the scratching post or the small kitty condo that sat in my living room ignored for years, so I put those out at the end of my driveway on Sunday evening. They were gone Monday morning, off to entertain someone else’s cat. I brought a box of Meow Mix seafood and sauce, the only food she was interested in the last couple of months, to work for the office cats and the ferals in the back yard. The leftover veterinary food (which was supposed to help Nutmeg lose weight, although it never really did) I took back to the clinic, to pass along at their discretion.


I sometimes think my bedroom is haunted, not unpleasantly so, by the many pets who have shared it with me. I feel paws crossing the bed when there’s no one there, and I remember Cleo and Twinky, and the other cats before them, and the dogs, Sandy the scruff terrier, Fred the labrador mix, and Albert the gentlemanly basset hound. Now Nutmeg has joined them across the Rainbow Bridge. There should be quite a furry crowd waiting for me one day.

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Laurie A. Green
    Mar 29, 2019 @ 23:03:48

    So sorry to hear about Nutmeg, Kay, but your blog about her was wonderful. The fur babies that share our lives do make an impact on us, as well as hold a special place in our memories. Here’s hoping another companion will find his or her way into your life very soon.

    Liked by 1 person


  2. Cheryl Bolen
    Mar 30, 2019 @ 10:55:36

    Oh, Kay, a lovely obituary for your furry friend. I’m so sorry for your loss. I had no idea you’ve been letting go of her. I remember when you were letting go of Jack. Both times, so lovingly so. Life’s tough, but you make it smooth for those you love.

    Liked by 1 person


  3. gerrybartlett
    Mar 30, 2019 @ 16:00:30

    A sad loss. Hugs, Kay.



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