Lily was 4 years old when she came into my life. I can't fathom taking my pet of 4 years to the pound, but that's where she came from. My sister gave her to me for what was supposed to only be a one week stay; one week turned into 9 years. All of those years, I had wondered what she was like as a kitten, what were the things that shaped her into this little creature who grew bolder and braver with age? She aged into a brazen food thief, stealing bacon and pancakes when your head was turned. She was scared of a cockroach but not a chipmunk. I never understood why you needed to be at least 13 years old to touch her. Sorry kids, she really was a nice cat.
In the final weeks of her life, I was desperately trying to make her healthy again and dreading the decision that was facing me. I was beginning to accept that 13 years was what her life was going to be. All the same, I wanted more time with her, I wanted those 4 years that someone else got. I hope I gave her a good life. Lily really was a very good cat.
Goodbye sweet Lily.
