Last week I wrote about how luxurious it made me feel to laze about in bed in the morning with my cat asleep on my feet. Little did I know that very morning would be the last I’d get with poor Clivey.

That evening I went out to feed my horse, Penny Lane, and Clivey slipped out the door to chase birds and squirrels and soak up the last of that day’s sun. It’s something she had done a million times before, and I thought nothing of letting her out.

Not 15 minutes later my sister-in-law came to the house and asked if Clivey was inside, because the neighbor’s dogs had a cat. I thought this was surely another cat, because Clivey did not stray past the property line. But, as I neared the neighbors’ driveway I knew it was her lying there at their feet … like nothing more than a play toy.

I scooped her lifeless body up and took her home. Michael buried her under the chestnut tree. I hate that tree, because chestnuts grow inside terrible little spiky deathtraps. But we will not cut it down now.

Clivey was a gift to me from Michael on our first anniversary. She kept me company during many weeks and long nights when he was away for training in the Army and I would have otherwise been alone. She was a standoffish cat a lot of the time. She wasn’t much friendly and she loved to destroy a good roll of toilet paper. But over the years we got to understand each other.

I guess we became closest when we brought Emory home from the hospital. The first time she heard him cry she ran to him and sniffed about. From then on anytime he cried she ran to his aid, or meowed to alert me that something was wrong.

Lately they had become very close, in fact “Kittie” or “KEEEE” as he says it, was the boy’s most used word. He’d wake up in the night calling for her. He still asks for her and seems confused from time to time that she is not around.

Nighttime is not the same, because she no longer is around to keep my feet warm. The mornings aren’t the same, because she isn’t there. Coming home isn’t the same because she isn’t there at the door when I open it, although I still halfway expect her to be. Lots of things are much different without her here.

I guess we will get another cat, but we will always miss her. And it won’t be the same without Clivey. She was a good little yellow cat. 

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