Dedicated to our favorite feline friends who have passed on

Mickey and Tiger DuRapau

___________________________________________________

Speedo Connor

_____________________________________________________

Shadow Rutter

She was the picnic table kitty.  Her mom raised her and her sister under the table by oaks in the apartment’s patio.  Of those three, only Shadow survived and was almost full grown before I convinced her to move inside and to give up chasing bugs and climbing the oak tree onto the apartment rooftops.  It took two weeks to win her trust just enough to touch the tip of her tail. Once inside, however, she was home and never attempted to go outside. 

Her treat food preference was boiled shrimp which quickly became a Friday ritual; otherwise she would settle for baked chicken. When finished eating, she would stroll away from her bowl, shaking each front paw two or three times.

She survived her first year by viewing suspiciously all two-legged creatures as dangerous and for the rest of her life she would fade under the nearest furniture when strangers were around.  True to her name, she would follow me everywhere and eventually settle on the arm of my chair, front paws on my leg.  This was the closest she ever came to being a lap cat. Every evening, she would meet me by stalking down the long hall, practically invisible in the dark except for green eyes glowing and long fluffy tail pluming behind her. The sweetest of spirits, she graciously agreed to let more cats join the household, although sometimes I could almost hear her thinking, “Oh no, another one?” She even tolerating her nemesis, Mosby, the grey ghost, who could always con her by first licking her ears then chomping them.

Shadow was a reluctant traveler but drove with me to Georgia more times than I can recall.  Even then, it took a dozen trips before my mother saw her outside of her carrier.  On arrival Shadow would rush from the carrier to the sanctuary under my grandmother’s old oak bed. Inevitably, when time to return, she would plant herself under the middle of the bed with claws deep into the carpet and her body flattened against the floor, defying me to pry her loose.  On return trips to New Orleans, she would leave her carrier and creep to the car window and give a blood curdling meow to announce that she could smell Lake Pontchartrain and knew she was nearing home.  That was the only time she was ever loud. The rest of her vocalizing was kitten soft, sometimes just opening her mouth and tipping her head with no sound coming out.

She loved to lie on tile - no carpets or pillows for her.  At least not until her last year, when she decided a little pink cushion was a perfect foil for sitting by the french doors enjoying the sunshine.  The years gradually took their toll.  Diagnosed with diabetes when she was about eleven, she was fortunate to receive the excellent care from her very special doctor, Dr. Karen Miller and the staff at The Cat Hospital in Metairie.  Dr. Miller always treated Shadow as her own and made her passing easier and with dignity.  If not for her, Shadow would never have made it to nineteen. 

Photo taken in 2006 while at a friend’s old farmhouse in Georgia, our retreat from Hurricane Katrina.  Shadow who never jumped on tables finally agreed that this dining table out of reach of her colleagues was a good place to snack.