College of Veterinary Medicine Home Pet Loss Hotline

Amy (black-and-white, shown with lifetime housemate, Bonnie) came to us in 1990 at 8 weeks of age, the last tiny kitten in a big crate that originally housed all of her litter-mates at the pound. Her mission was to love unconditionally, but she preferred to share with just one human at a time. Over time she focused on each one of us according to the natural progression of things, first my daughter, then my son after my daughter moved out, and then me after my son moved out.

  Above all things, Amy insisted on daily "touch time", sometimes demanding center stage by occupying a willing lap, other times more passively, pressed up alongside me in a position guaranteed to maximize the amount of fur touching skin. Position wasn't important, but touching was; if I wouldn't sit still to allow her to cuddle, she'd hunt me down and lie across my feet, even if I was standing up. 

In 2002 Amy was diagnosed with feline diabetes, and she cheerfully welcomed the twice-a-day injections as added opportunities for love and companionship. She expanded her circle of human friends to include the doctors and staff at Tri City Animal Hospital, and welcomed the routine glucose checks and occasional more serious complications with gentle grace and good cheer, always willing to share the love with her new friends. Amy succumbed to renal failure at the age of 16-1/2. It is impossible to measure how much she is missed.

Revised Oct. 20 2006     |     Printer Friendly Version