She died in her sleep after two weeks of not eating. She was no longer really my cat. My stepmother had adopted her. This blog shares some of my memories of Stanley, to honor her passing.
I remember when I got you from the people in Frenchtown, Montana. Your tale was the size of a pencil stub, so small and thin I laughed at you. Within a year it had grown into an enormous plume, like a peacock's and you proudly swished it behind you as you pranced.
I remember the torture you went through as a kitten when Ollie used to chase you all night and make you cry. You became the best of friends.
I remember the time I was lying in my bed and you got your head stuck through the handle of a plastic shopping bag. All I could see was a pink bag flying around my room, bouncing off the walls at such a high speed I couldn't even see you attached to it. I pounced on the bag and rescued you.
I remember moving into a place with an enormous bathtub that you lived under for so long I wondered if you were still alive.
I remember you sitting by the front door, and when friends came over with their dogs you would reach out and swat the dogs right across the nose and they would leave you alone. You were so frightening for all of your 6 pounds.
I remember having friends who would be so shocked when you would come out late at night. They didn't know I had a second cat!
I remember how you'd play dead if the kids caught you. They could do anything to you, but given an opportunity for escape you would FLY back to the basement.
I remember the last few minutes in my house in Wyoming when you escaped from your cage and I chased you down the stairs and grabbed your tail just as you were going into the ceiling panels. I didn't let go no matter how much you tried to hurt me. I had to bring you with me back to Vermont.
I remember that you used to sleep right beside my head at night, for years and years and then stopped when there were too many dogs to sneak around on your way to my room.
I remember my dog Zoe was your playmate and you two would just stare at each other, only inches away. Then if someone came close she'd chase you down the stairs. Sometimes you would even trap her in the basement overnight because she was afraid to go by you.
I remember when you used to yowl in the middle of the night when the kids were gone and it sounded just like "Mom, mom, mom," and I would get up wondering who was calling me and I would find you.
And sometimes you would call Ollie too, "ollllllieeeee." It was so sweet and I do believe you were trying to talk.
I hope he's okay with out you. I'm sorry I couldn't spend your last years with you. You were a neurotic freak of a cat, but I'll miss you.