Bye-Bye Blacky

Please excuse me if I ramble. I'm not thinking to clearly right now. This is very hard to write, yet I think I need it. I need to get my emotions and my guilt down somewhere. This is it I guess.
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Blacky is gone. She followed her mother to be with God. Yes, I honestly believe that God will care for her now. It's just that I miss her now so badly. And all over again, I am grieving for her mother, and for Lefty Lou. Again. When Pizza died we said our goodbyes and we went out. We were required to be somewhere. Today, I had an errand to run, and that was it.
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I got Pizza in 1995, when she was nearly a year old. I wasn't going to get another cat. I wouldn't do it. But Patches died. She was almost 20 years old. We cared for her, and loved her, and when we didn't have kids right away, we kind of let her and the dog take their place. I got her the year after we were married. Bill said he never wanted a cat. Then my Dad died. When opportunity to get a kitten came along, he went along with it because of my recent loss. I look at that now, and I can almost laugh. A cat, no matter how pretty, wasn't going to replace a parent. Anyway, I named her Patch because she had patches of cream, white and gray all over. She was more my friend than my pet. We used to play hide and go seek together. And yeah, she got it. She'd hide and I'd walk by and she'd jump out at me. Then I would chase her and she'd case me back. I'd feed her when we ate and she'd pick up each piece of her food with her paw, one at a time. When I went to bed at night, I'd curl up on my side, and she'd curl up against me. When I traveled with work, I actually missed her more than I did my husband. She was warm.
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When she died I vowed I'd never get another cat because I didn't want to go through another loss, even if it happened 19 years down the road. But then the mice moved in with the winter monthes and I couldn't deal with that. Patch died on Thanksgiving. We got Pizza in the Spring. Pizza was born the July before on Bill's best friend's birthday. I remember telling my Bill, 'Go to Bill E's house and pick out a kitten." Bill E.'s cat, Sandy, reproduced like crazy. In fact prior to getting Pizza, my friend, George, went to Bill E.'s house and picked out Tabitha. Now that cat is crazy.
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Anyway, my Bill picked out a cat they called Tiger. I didn't want Tiger. She was too old. But no, Bill fell in love with her long before he brought her home. He even named her in the car on the way. He called her Georgene, after a cat I had when I was little. My George, a male, was an orange Tabby just like Tiger was. Anyway, he got home with the cat, and she met the dog. We had Heidi at the time. Tiger was so terrified, that she climbed up the drapes and walked along the curtain rod in the living room. We got her down and she headed for the bathroom. She climbed again, until she could walk along the top of the shower doors. The next time we got her down, she headed for my bedroom and dug a hole right in the middle of the bottom side of the box spring, and then climbed in. I know she was scared, but I was more concerned about the dog. Heidi just wanted to be friends. When Patch died, Heidi just got old suddenly afterwards. When Tiger came into the house, she was all excited, thinking maybe she had a replacement for Patch. Although truthfully Patch only learned to like one dog, and it wasn't Heidi. Anyway, we sat down to eat dinner and discuss the cat. We figured we'd let her be and she'd find her way out of the box spring. She did eventually. We took a vote and agreed that no one thought that Tiger looked like either a Tiger or a Georgene. (Especially since my friend's name is not George, but Georgene.) Becki was 5 at the time. She said, "We're eating Pizza, so let's call her Pizza." We laughed and the name stuck. Bill promised he'd never call her Pizza. That didn't last long.
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Anyway, Pizza proved to be an outdoor cat. I don't care what the experts say about keeping cats inside. Yeah, okay, some cats will stay inside. Pizza threw herself in front of the door everytime someone closed it, and actually growled at anyone getting near her. She wanted out. When I finally let her out, I figured that was it, she'd take off and I'd never see her again. Middle of the first night, she woke me up by knocking on my bedroom window. My neighbor let me know that Pizza knocked on her bedroom window that first night, too.
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When Pizza went into heat that first time, I managed to keep her in. No accidents. The next time, though, she got out before I knew what was happening. As Paul Harvey used to say, "Now you know the rest of the story." Pizza had 4 kittens. She had them under a fold up cot in the kids' room. The coolest thing was that we folded the bed up and watched her as she delivered the last 3 kittens. They were really beautiful. There was a white, black and orange cat Becki called Princess. The next one could have been Patch's kitten. She was almost an exact reproduction of a cat she wasn't related to. Except Patch II had cream colored bracelets around each wrist. Next came and white and orange cat. Ed decided before they were born that if there was a yellow tabby like Pizza he'd name it after a Pizza ingredient. That was Pepperroni. He and Patch II were inseperable almost instantly. The very last one to be born was a black and orange cat that Jon called Blacky. She was miserable from day 1. She was the runt of the litter and the loudest and neediest kitten I ever met. The other three sought their independence almost immediately. Not Blacky. Poor Pizza would get up to use the cat box and one meow from Blacky, and my poor cat was right back to nursing. I don't think she peed for three weeks after giving birth.
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I made up my mind that I wanted to keep Pepperoni and Patch. They were just too cute and full of life. I don't know how many time I nearly tripped over these two. I'd hear a screech, and I'd see a multicolored flash as the two of them chased each other all over the house. They'd tackle each other and wrestle, and just have fun all day long.
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We put the word out that we needed adoptive parents for four cats. Two people came. Someone took Princess, and then Becki cried. Then a man brought his kids to pick out one cat. They walked out with both Pepperoni and Patch II. We kept asking around if anyone wanted Blacky. No such luck. We were stuck with her.
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She was the single most loving, and pigheaded cat I ever met. When she lost her temper, watch out. She never hurt any of us, but she sure as hell scared each of us at one time or other. Poor Ed got trapped in the back room with her one day. I don't know what he did, only that she wanted his hide, and he knew it. He kind of skirted the room with her on the prowl until he was able to dash out of there. She even scared the hell out of her mother. The only one she didn't scare at least once was Heidi. That dog was so in love with those cats. It was funny to watch her. At dinner time, she would line them up. First Heidi ate her fill, and then Pizza would be pushed into place. Behind her, came Blacky. And if either of the cats tried to walk away, Heidi would push her back into place.
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Blacky had two litters. We were very lucky in finding homes for eight of 9 cats. The last one, again was Jon's. He named him John Jacob Jinglehiemer Schmidt. Jon thought it would be funny if the cat went out and Jon wanted him home. He go outside and call for Johnny. "No," I said, "We'll call him J.J." That stuck.
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The long and short of this is that we fell in love with all three cats. I remember telling everyone about my orange, orange and black, and black cats, and how all three where seperated by a litter. Now mind you, Patch belonged to both Bill and I. When the kids came along, she and the dog were going to protect our babies. When Pizza came along, she decided who she'd spend time. She was primarily my cat, and that was fine with me. She was friendly with eveyrone else, but not as lovingly as she was with me. Blacky was definately Jon's cat, but she was everyone else's, too. She loved everyone and everyone loved her, too. J. is Bill and Becki's cat. He comes to me when he needs something. More than anything else he's a tease.
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Losing Blacky was hard. Harder still was losing her so soon after Pizza and Lefty. I don't think I even mentioned Lefty. She was the guinea pig Becki bought Bill for Father's Day last year. She didn't last a year. I had been feeding her food from a local pet shop. Then one day I picked up Hartz Mountain from the local grocery store because I didn't have time to run to the pet shop. Poor Lefty blew up like a balloon. Anyway, she's gone. That was hard again because of losing a great pet and so soon after another great pet. So here we are. Hurting one more time.
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I'll continue in another post.