If Maury hadn't been at death's door, she would have surely died. Her sister was a bit stronger and faster, surviving the chase in the dilapidated chicken coop one dreary October day in 2003, losing in the end, as she surely didn't have a chance as a sickly unwanted feral kitten. Maury lost the battle, with us, but won the war. We took her home (we weren't living on our farm yet) after a trip to the local vet, who chided that she wouldn't survive the five-hour drive, only to meet vet number two who said she wouldn't live through the week. Happily, both were wrong as Maury lived for 12 years in two states. Life does come full circle as she's now buried in the same hallowed ground that her sister is likely in somewhere on our Virginia farm.
When something or someone dies there is often regret. Not the kind of regret that you wished you hadn't enjoyed that last glass of wine the night before, or you shouldn't have bought that ugly green dress on sale after all, but the kind the lingers inside like an ulcer. This is the worst kind of hangover, it's terminal, there's no cure and it never leaves you for good, cerebral baggage if you will. That's how I feel about Maury, the dilute calico, that's what the vet termed her unique color, and I wish now in retrospect that I had outwardly loved her and doted on her like I did with some of our other cats (we have several).
Maury was not maltreated, just the opposite. She dined on grilled chicken and processed ham and turkey, her favorites, had regular shots, was wormed and "Frontlined" like her unrelated siblings and slept indoors or out, her choice, with the run of acres of farmland full of mice, birds and other temptations. She never wanted for anything but she was a loner. Her early life seemed to dictate her behaviour for the rest of her days, for better or worse.
(Maury and Morgan, 2011)
Many tears have been shed this week and many more will flow but somehow I believe that Maury is watching and understands......now. Love all of your animals please!