Princess’ Story

On December 5th around 4 pm in the afternoon, I put my lovely cat Princess to sleep.

I had her 15 years.

When I found her all those 15 years ago, she was a stray cat in Saratoga living in a barn, with five kittens.

She ate food out of Bella Saratoga’s dumpster to survive.

She fiercely protected her kittens and every one who worked at the spa with me was scared of her.

I clearly remember her hissing at me and flattening herself to the ground, like an angry brown cloud, then running away from me.

I trapped her and her kittens.

When I brought her to see the vet, the vet refused to take her out of the cage, she was so scared of getting bitten or scratched.

That’s how fierce my little Princess was.

I thought Princess was feral but she was so beautiful, with her Burmese markings and her blue, blue eyes, from the moment I saw her I was determined to keep her.

She hid under my couch for a week.

Slowly though, she came around.

I’d like to take the credit for it, but the truth is Princess loved men and she warmed up to my ex-husband before she warmed up to me.

I woke up the morning of December 5th and went through my morning routine with Princess.

Petting her.

Feeding her the treats she demanded from me on a regular basis.

She jumped up on the couch to get attention.

She was old, but vital.

I went to work as usual.

But then I got a text from my son a few hours later.

Something is wrong with Princess.

She threw up, had a seizure, and couldn’t move her back legs.

I immediately left work and took her to the vet.

She was dying right there on the table in the veterinary clinic.

Her eyes were closed.

She barely moved.

A few times, I thought she was already dead.

With a VERY heavy heart, I held her while the vet put her to sleep.

It’s been just a few days since she died and I miss her TREMENDOUSLY.

Memories of my sweet Princess keep me up at night.

I thought I had more time with her.

But apparently, she had someplace to be.

RIP Princess, quite possibly the best little rescue cat I’ll ever be lucky enough to call my baby.

 

 

Mac

Some of you know the story of Mac, the incredible white German shepherd my ex-husband rescued for me when we lost our oldest son to cancer.

That dog brought me back to life and saved me when I was at my lowest, deepest point of suffering.

Mac died when he fell out my truck window onto Highway 80 when the boys and I were coming home from a camping trip.

I remember watching him fall in my rearview mirror and also seeing my 60 pound, 7 year old son desperately trying to hold on to him.

I thought that perhaps my son was falling out the window too.

You can’t imagine the horror I experienced.

My son stayed safely in the car but sadly, Mac was killed while getting off the freeway (10 years to the day after my oldest son died).

We’d just finished up a LOVELY vacation at the Yuba River with my Uncle Donald, Aunt Stacey, and my cousins Jennifer, Travis, Bella, Matt, and Nick.

It was amazing.

Today, I was reminded that when it was my turn to swing on the rope and fall 8 feet into the water, I was chicken.

I didn’t want to jump.

And Mac stood by my side and waited with me while I worked up the courage. . .

And JUMPED!

And only after I jumped did he follow suit and jump in with me.

He was an amazing dog.

And I feel lucky that I somehow managed to take this picture of him THE VERY MORNING OF THE DAY HE DIED.

The last picture I ever took of him.

And I’d like to think that in the afterlife, he is playing in the water, in the sun, surrounded by family.

I love you Mac.  You are not forgotten!

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