Good Morning, Kittens.
Last night, my mother called me. She had bad news. I guessed it immediately.
Gertrude, Isabella's bitchy younger sister, was put down. She had been withering away slowly since January. Losing weight. Not eating. Being all listless. Which, if you'd ever met Gertrude, you knew "listless" was not in her vocabulary.
I was going to link to the post of the story of how FrankenKitty Gertrude came into our lives, but I realized that it must have been prior to my switch to blogger ... Possibly the Summer of 2005 ...
A friend of mine sent out an email saying that she had a friend who worked in the animal labs at George Washington University. And they had a cat there, who was originally purchased for some testing, but then funds ran out. They kept her around for awhile, making her a lab "pet" ... but, eventually, they had to get rid of her. If they couldn't find a good home, she was going to be put down.
I emailed my friend that I would take her if no one else would.
A few days later, I had a new cat ... who DID NOT LIKE OTHER CATS.
She and Isabella did not become BFFs. And Gertrude had several pounds (and claws) to express how much she didn't like the Psychokitty.
After several months of trying to get them to like each other (Can't we all just get along?), I threw in the towel. I convinced my parents to take Gertrude. I knew that, as a single cat and in a loving home, she would thrive.
And thrive she did! She even accepted another cat, Watson, when he adopted my parents.
So, as I told my parents, she had 6 really great years in a loving home. What more could a unwanted kitteh want? And, now, she is buried beside Watson (who died suddenly last summer), in their backyard.
It's funny (or maybe not so funny) how the death of a pet can sometimes be more upsetting than the death of a person. So, Santa Gertrudes, you'd better take care of your namesake (or my mother is going to have words with you ...)