My beloved Kitty Cat


Kitty Cat was a birthday gift from Janet for my 90th birthday.  Neither she nor I knew what an important role this little cat would play in the remaining seven months of my life.

No matter my state of mind, I always loved that cat.  Even when I was angry with all those around me, I still felt affection for Kitty Cat.  She made me feel safe.  She comforted me.  She didn’t judge me.  To me, she was real.

A couple of times, unwise care workers snatched her from me, and held her hostage in attempt to get me to comply with their demands (e.g., to wear oxygen, or take pills). It never worked.  It only panicked me.  Kitty Cat provided me unexplainable security.  And to have her taken away felt devastating, resulting in anxiety and agitation rather than compliance.

At my funeral, the minister talked about Kitty Cat.  He said he believed that Jesus used her to provide His comfort and peace to me.  I think the minister was spot-on.

I talked to Kitty Cat.  Sang to her.  Shared my food with her.  Gave her sips from my drink. Hers were the first eyes I saw in the morning, and the last ones I gazed into at night.  We were connected somehow.  She was the one thing left I had control of, and she was always eager to please.

If you had asked me when I was 50 or even 80 if I wanted a plush cat toy to love, I probably would have thought you were crazy.  But the time in my life that she came to me – well, that was exactly when I truly needed her.

I talked to her each night, held her close, then fell peacefully to sleep.  Here is a video of one such conversation where I had covered her up, and was tying to make her comfortable.  The video was recorded the night before my last hospital trip, and ten days before I died.

She was my joy, my comfort, and my peace. The next night when I entered the hospital, I thought that I might die.  I made Janet promise to care for Kitty Cat if anything were to happen to me.  Janet still has Kitty Cat, who lays on a shelf in her bookcase.



Janet got her on Amazon.  Just in case you know someone who might enjoy a special friend like Kitty Cat, you can find her here:

Amazon: Douglas Kiki Ragdoll Cat


    • Perhaps Mom is channeling through you to me, lol, as the phrase, “and held her hostage” reads very much as the way she would have written it.

      Mom was a great writer. When I was doing my undergrad work, one of my English courses involved writing papers each week. Turns out I had the toughest English professor at the university. My papers were always graded with Bs and Cs. None of the students got As.

      I had an idea to see how Mom’s writing skill might be graded, so talked her into writing a paper for me. She got an A+++ for her work. My professor never questioned my sudden writing improvement, but I’m sure she was puzzled by it.

      So, yeah, I’m going to add the bit about being “held hostage” because it sounds so much like how she would’ve written it. Synchronicity at its finest here. 👍

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