Most cats don’t get obituaries when they die. I wrote this post for Isobel in 2013. It’s all still true, though she did get less wary of people in the last couple of years, after we moved into our home in Longmont. For the first time in her life she was able to enjoy a little time outdoors (because we have a backyard), though she didn’t really enjoy venturing into the grass, preferring the safety and comfort of the patio. Who doesn’t like a good patio.
She passed away at 3:45 am, on Saturday, April 27th. I was not able to be with her in person, as I was in Texas, having been with my father when he passed away just a few hours earlier. It was really a very shitty day.
She went so quickly.
Laura Ann held her phone up to Isobel’s ear so that I was able to tell her how much I loved her and how much she’s meant to me. I mean: goddamn. That cat saw me through a lot. And she supported me every step of the way. She was a fierce protector, a quiet and astute observer, and an avid eater of breakfast and corn chips. She will be greatly missed. More than I can really put into words.
Lately, Isobel has been having breakfast with me. I sit on the floor and have my coffee and cereal or yogurt or whatever, and she either curls up in my lap or snuggles up to my leg.
When I first met Isobel and Yoshimi, they were very small.
I adopted them from the Chatham County Humane Society in Savannah, Georgia a few weeks before starting my MFA. They were the only two kittens in their cage in a room full of cages stuffed with desperate, crying kittens. Isobel was not crying. She sat in the back of her cage and ignored me, while Yoshimi cried and pawed at the bars. Of course: I decided I wanted to adopt her. But I didn’t have a copy of my lease with me to prove that I was allowed to have pets, and the shelter was closing. So: they told me that they…
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tragically inept. 