Yesterday evening, at dusk, my wife and I drove west to the vet clinic in a nearby village. I squinted my eyes against the light of the setting sun. I knew that, before soothing darkness overtook the land, another bright light in our lives would also be winking out.
Boo (August 1, 1992 - March 29, 2011)
Boo would have been 19 years old this August. She was my wife’s steadfast companion throughout her entire adult life; I was privileged to share her for nearly 10 years. She came home as a tiny, triangle-tailed barn kitten who would just as soon come at you sideways – all pointy paws and teeth – to grab your shins, as purr on your pillow at night.
Boo was the matriarch of our household, and ruled firmly but fairly over her feline, canine and human subjects. She taught our dogs manners. She patiently tolerated the fawning affection and incessant grooming needs of our boy-cats. A toddler’s over-exuberant fur-pull would be met with only a look of disdain and a flick of the tail as she sauntered off.
She knew how to get THAT glass of water hand-delivered to her…no, not that one, THAT one (and filled to the top, please)…with nothing more than a chirp and a sideways glance.
In her younger days, she was a mighty hunter who could take down a bird mid-flight faster than the human eye could process.
Her face was capable of expressing a near-human range of emotions; you never had to guess how she was feeling. In many ways, she was more human than some people I know.
She also had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Gazing into them was like gazing at an exotic, far-away galaxy, or at rare amber-coloured gems.
During her last few months with us, she never complained or lost her regal air, despite the arthritis that made her limp and the kidney disease that would eventually claim her life.
We’ll miss you, old girl.