In Memoriam

Just past midnight on Sunday, April 26th, our beloved Kitty passed away. 

Her records list her birthday as April 14, 2004, but that’s simply a guesstimate because that’s when she and her twin showed up, out of nowhere, in grandma’s garage in Manoa when they were tiny kittens. Dirty and hungry, they devoured the little bit of canned tuna we offered, before scurrying off, deep into the back yard. 

The next day, she came back to the garage alone, meowing at the top of her lungs, and this time, with a belly full of kitten chow, she let us pet her. Even though we didn’t know it at the time, that’s when she became a part of our family. 

Kira named her Princess Kitty on her first visit to the vet. After having worked at the Humane Society for a couple of years, I knew it was imperative that she get checked out right away, that she got all her shots, and when she was old enough, spayed. In the first year, Kitty would wander off for days, sometimes weeks, and every time, I’d think, “This is it. She’s not coming back.” But inevitably, she’d show up at the front door, meowing loud enough to get everybody’s attention in that typical tortie-cat way, full of stories, I guess, about her adventures away from home. 

Eventually, her jaunts got shorter and she got chunkier (Grandma thought kitties needed three square meals a day), until she became a full fledged porch cat. By the time we moved into the Manoa house in 2011, she had established her domain, sunbathing in the driveway, hiding in her secret apartment in the rafters above the garage, and hanging out by the front door. She would wake us up every morning, just as the sun began to lighten the sky for breakfast, and greet us at the edge of the driveway every night when we got home. We learned later that she made lots of friends around the neighborhood, probably grabbing a midday snack here or there along the way because when it came time to move out of that house, so many people would say, “Oh Kitty, we’re going to miss her,” as if she had a secret life we didn’t know about.

I had always felt there was something wild in Kitty so I didn’t really believe she’d be able to adapt, not just to a new place but also living exclusively indoors. Of course, she proved me wrong. When Kitty moved into the studio, it became hers. Maybe she liked our companionship for most of the day and night. Maybe she liked the clean, soft bedding, and air conditioning after living outdoors for so long. Or maybe she was at the stage in life where she was just tired of cat fights in the middle of the night and prefered the peace and quiet.

She had to learn not to gobble up her food the minute it was served because there were no birds or other cats around to steal it. She also had to learn how to cuddle and how to play too, but she took to those things so readily for an old cat. And for one who hadn’t had a lot of human interaction, she was remarkably patient with little hands that wanted to pet her or tug on her whiskers and tail. Kitty never quite got the hang of being carried or having her belly rubbed, and she always maintained that aloofness and independence typical of most cats, but she was our family. All the hours we spent at the studio, from morning till way past midnight every day of the week, were mainly for her. 

The girls always said that I spoiled her too much, but seeing how much she loved being around us, I just felt so guilty about the time we let slip by, that it took so many years before she got the affection she so richly deserved. Every day, I’d ask, “Is she happy?” “Does she know how much we love her?” As if it was our duty to give her the best life possible in her golden years. 

She got sick very suddenly, and none of us were ready, but we were all with her, Kira, Ezri, Mark, and I -- and Payton too, by Facetime -- when she went to sleep forever. 

In the days since then, we have all collectively realized how often we sought her out during the day, probably constantly interrupting her naps. I know I miss her more than any words can express, her voice, her little kitten licks, the feel of her soft fur...  Our “house” is so much emptier now that she’s gone.