June 13th, 2006


A place where words don't go.

Sophie died today, sometime after 1:30 this afternoon. Spooky and I held her until it was over. I am grateful to our veterinarian, who let Sophie go with dignity. I don't know if there's anything else I can say, not here. I won't say she was "my" cat for the last sixteen years. I will say that she tolerated my company for the last sixteen years. I rescued her from the Birmingham Humane Society. Well, Jada rescued her, on the day she was to have been euthanized. That was early in 1990. Since then, excepting 13 months in 1995-96 when she was abducted by a crazy cat lady in Athens, she was my constant companion. Since 1992, she has been my only cat. In a life too filled with inconstant friends and traitorous acquaintances, she was always there, regardless. She was a fine old dame and shall now be missed more than words can ever hope to convey. She was Sophia. Sophie. Uma. Joe. Joseph. One Big Organism. Because, in my experience, no cat is ever happy with only a single name. Like Sam and Lisa said, "A cat-shaped hole in my heart." Absofuckinglutely. Anyway, it's late, and it's been a very long and terrible and tearful day. Tomorrow, I want to post a few photos of Sophie...but I'm not going to be maudlin. I like to think she'd not have approved of maudlin displays on her behalf.

I expect it'll be a few days before I'm writing again. I hope everyone will understand if Sirenia Digest is a few days late this month. Spooky and I need a little time, that's all.
  • Current Music
    Gravenhurst, "Cities Beneath the Sea"
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The WBC (World's Best Cat).

It's a cool and grey day here in Atlanta after yesterday's storms, and I'm glad. There's been so much since my entry just after midnight. I almost said yesterday, but that was just after midnight. Anyway, I'm not going to try to write it down. Not here. Not how. Maybe later. This morning, Spooky and I treated each other to breakfast at the Flying Biscuit in Candler Park, and then we spent two or three hours sorting through thousands of photographs, looking for Sophie. I'd intended to narrow it down ten. Instead, I narrowed it down to eighteen. What the frell. It's my journal. She was "my" cat. And they're all behind the cut, besides. The space behind the cut is effectively infinite. We're talking about doing a permanent Sophie page on the new website. We'll see. We just got back from picking up her ashes. We've not yet decided what we'll do with them. Appropriate things. I'm so tired. Spooky talked to Jada this afternoon, and Jada said that the vet at the Birmingham Human Society, back in '90, estimated her age as 1-6 years old when we adopted her, which means she was between seventeen and twenty-two when she died. It seems appropriate that her origins are shrouded in mystery. I bet she was a hell of a kitten. Okay. Not gonna be maudlin. Really, I just want to sleep. Anyway, here are the photos. They are presented in no particular order:

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I do want to say thank you, very sincerely thank you, to everyone who's offered herhisit's condolences today. And thanks to Jada and Bill and Poppy and Katharine. And thanks, too, to Dr. Rachel Mathes, Sophie's vet at Pets Are People, Too (Ansley Park) and to Paws, Whiskers, and Wags (Decatur), the crematorium which took care of Sophie's remains. You have all helped so much. Thank you.

I feel like there are so many things I ought to say. But if I got started, I'd never frelling stop. Like, I want to talk about how, the last few months, she developed a distinctive love of music, especially Moby, This Mortal Coil, Legendary Pink Dots, and the Cocteau Twins. Or her days as a mighty huntress. Or her habit of flipping pages in books to get our attention. But I'd be here forever, and I'd get maudlin, and I will not do that. I think Spooky's going to post more photos in her LJ (humglum) a little later on. I need to rest now.