On Sunny Lane: Life Won't Be the Same

I’ve been a cat lover ever since I was four years old.

One day I walked down the dusty country road in my little bare feet to the neighbor’s house, picked up a kitten and asked, “Can I have it?”

The neighbor asked, “Does your mother allow you to have it?” I nodded my head yes just before my mother arrived and said no.

However, through the years, I did have kittens—and cats. And I passed that love down to all three of my children. Once I told my younger son that I couldn’t walk past a cat without petting it. He said, “I can’t either.” Once I looked out of the kitchen window to see my older son bent over, weeding the garden with a cat perched on his back. And it seemed as though my daughter always had a cat in her arms.

Flopsie is demonstrating the behavior that gave her her name when she was young and healthy.

Sixteen years ago, my older son was grown and living in a trailer in a wooded area. He had oodles of cats living in the trailer with him. At one point, two of his cats had litters at approximately the same time. I didn’t think he was being a responsible cat dad, so I rescued two of the kittens. I thought that would be the number I could reasonably care for. After all, I was making a potential 20-year commitment.

I was going to name them Evel and Knievel, because they were little daredevils, but decided against it. They wouldn’t be able to distinguish their names when they were called.

I called the female Flopsie, because, when she was happy she would flop over onto her back and roll from side to side. I named the male kitten Skittles, because sudden noises or the approach of a stranger would send him skittering away.

We had a happy life together, until four years ago, when Skittles ran away from home. He came into the yard once about a year ago, but, when I tried to approach him, he ran away and I have not seen him since.

Flopsie has been a faithful cat for 15 ½ years. About 3-4 months ago, though, her health took a sudden turn for the worse. She lost half of her body weight. Sweetheart and I took her to the vet four times, but the medication we were given only gave temporary relief.

She got steadily worse and I finally had to admit that she had reached the point of no return. The lively chipmunk hunter was now barely able to get off of the couch. She no longer felt like flopping from side to side. The comfort and joy she had brought me was at an end.

We made one more appointment with the vet—to put my dear friend out of her misery.

Life won’t be the same in our little cottage on Sunny Lane. If there is a cat heaven, I know Flopsie is there.

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Dorothy is the author of two books—“Miles and Miracles” and “Getting It All Together “. You can purchase a book or send a comment by emailing her at dorothybutzknight@gmail.com