One of our cats passed away a couple of weeks ago. I wrote this as a sort of commemoration to her.
Memories of Domino:
When we first got her, she was a tiny, ferocious ball of fur that could fit in the palm of my hand with room to spare. We first met her on our porch when April Bruce brought her and her brother over for us to see. Initially, Janelle didn’t want to keep her because Domino, a terrified puffball, bit Janelle’s finger. I convinced her that, as long as we were getting a cat, we should get a second one to keep the first company. At the time, I thought her meow was endearing. She was certainly more friendly than her skittish brother.
We named her Domino because the spots on her fur reminded me of both actual dominoes (I have a set of white dominoes with black spots) and the X-men character Domino. Her name also seemed appropriate due to how much she dominated first her brother and then Satin.
Domino quickly became the “fat” cat of the house. She kept her brother’s exuberance in check and claimed the house as her own. She meowed (often) for attention, and as she gained weight (becoming downright fat) it became more and more difficult to ignore her requests.
Ironically, when she was truly satisfied, her purrs would become so strong that, although she would open her mouth to meow, no sound would come out of her mouth except maybe a squeak.
Like many cats, she loved boxes, quickly laying claim to any box that might have just been cleared by the simple expedient of sitting in them. Often, when we had trouble finding her, we simply had to check one of the nearest boxes to catch her sleeping soundly. Janelle even filled one of her favorite boxes with woolly fabric which Domino would often use for a bed.
After she lost her bottom teeth and started losing weight, her dominance in the house also waned. Even then, she had little fear of the other animals, sometimes going so far as to eat our dog’s food even while Annie was eating. Granted, she and Annie had a special relationship, and both could often be found sleeping together. In fact, often when Domino wanted to go to bed, she would follow Annie around the house, meowing at her until she finally settled down.
Two nights before she passed away, she hopped into my lap, as was often her custom, and worked herself into one of her meow-stopping purrs. I could almost count her bones, although I thought that our recent switch to broth-feeding might have put a little more meat on her. As I was petting her, the thought that this might be the last time I had this kind of moment with her crossed my mind. I told myself that I needed to make certain that I appreciated those moments more. I am glad that I did.
Due to the mounds of snow covering the frozen earth, Janelle has wrapped her in a soft towel and placed her in a box on a perch in our garage. Her body will be put to rest the way that she liked to spend her life.
Domino, you annoying, whiny kitty, I miss you.
Memories of Domino:
When we first got her, she was a tiny, ferocious ball of fur that could fit in the palm of my hand with room to spare. We first met her on our porch when April Bruce brought her and her brother over for us to see. Initially, Janelle didn’t want to keep her because Domino, a terrified puffball, bit Janelle’s finger. I convinced her that, as long as we were getting a cat, we should get a second one to keep the first company. At the time, I thought her meow was endearing. She was certainly more friendly than her skittish brother.
We named her Domino because the spots on her fur reminded me of both actual dominoes (I have a set of white dominoes with black spots) and the X-men character Domino. Her name also seemed appropriate due to how much she dominated first her brother and then Satin.
Domino quickly became the “fat” cat of the house. She kept her brother’s exuberance in check and claimed the house as her own. She meowed (often) for attention, and as she gained weight (becoming downright fat) it became more and more difficult to ignore her requests.
Ironically, when she was truly satisfied, her purrs would become so strong that, although she would open her mouth to meow, no sound would come out of her mouth except maybe a squeak.
Like many cats, she loved boxes, quickly laying claim to any box that might have just been cleared by the simple expedient of sitting in them. Often, when we had trouble finding her, we simply had to check one of the nearest boxes to catch her sleeping soundly. Janelle even filled one of her favorite boxes with woolly fabric which Domino would often use for a bed.
After she lost her bottom teeth and started losing weight, her dominance in the house also waned. Even then, she had little fear of the other animals, sometimes going so far as to eat our dog’s food even while Annie was eating. Granted, she and Annie had a special relationship, and both could often be found sleeping together. In fact, often when Domino wanted to go to bed, she would follow Annie around the house, meowing at her until she finally settled down.
Two nights before she passed away, she hopped into my lap, as was often her custom, and worked herself into one of her meow-stopping purrs. I could almost count her bones, although I thought that our recent switch to broth-feeding might have put a little more meat on her. As I was petting her, the thought that this might be the last time I had this kind of moment with her crossed my mind. I told myself that I needed to make certain that I appreciated those moments more. I am glad that I did.
Due to the mounds of snow covering the frozen earth, Janelle has wrapped her in a soft towel and placed her in a box on a perch in our garage. Her body will be put to rest the way that she liked to spend her life.
Domino, you annoying, whiny kitty, I miss you.
RSS Feed
