home is the huntress

Last winter, our sweet little cranky old lady cat Ginny was not her active self anymore, and she was rescued from the brink by our awesome vet  with some kind of magic steroid shot. I had spend many days tending to her while she lay listless in her basket and refused most of my food and drink offerings.

But then she perked up, and only two weeks ago my love and I took her for her yearly physical and we were all sort of congratulating each other on how well she was doing, how she looked great and had maintained her (low) weight by me feeding her treats whenever she wanted them. She spend most of her nights cuddling with E, instead of hunting like she used to, and she still came for 'petting time' and loved to settle on laps.

All of a sudden, two days ago, she did not do so well anymore. She refused her treats. She didn't go for her morning walk. When E came home yesterday, she took Ginny for an emergency visit to our vet, who was overbooked as it was, but still tended to her and did the best she could to give us one more night with our Ginny. There was no more magic to be done, the vet suspected renal failure. She has been with us for 9 years. We got her as a stray when she was living in people's garages in my friend M's neighborhood. We don't know how old she was, but we decided that she was 14,5 just like her frenemy Tribble, who she now is buried next to- in a hand made wooden box, under the trees.

She loved to gallop the length of the house. She howled at the moon. She brought us many many presents. She loved attention, but not other cats. She loved to roll around and relax on the slate steps of the garden path. And we love her.