It is with great sadness I have to report that Mischa left my little family on March 20, 2002, at the age of "about 20"
(no telling her exact age as she was adopted in 1984, and her given age at the time was just over two). It was
necessary for me to have her put to sleep due to failing kidneys and the resulting pain she was experiencing. This
was the hardest decision I've ever made.
Mischa died peacefully with me stroking her gently .. "go to sleep... go to sleep..."
She was sorely missed. Mischa was the reason for my surviving my own life-threatening illnesses: I had to get home to be with her again.
Simba seemed lost, not able to handle her friend Mischa being gone.
Mischa gave me 18 years of unconditional love. It hurt, but I know I did the right thing by removing her from her suffering.
Simba left my little family, leaving just Miguel and me, on April 18, 2003. She never really recovered from the
loss of Mischa, spending much of her time her last year crying out and looking for her mom. Simba passed away at
the age of 20.
Simba was an awkward cat who never really learned to trust most people, though she did come to be my friend and companion over time. She was primarily Mischa's shadow, spending most of her life in the constant presence and warmth of Mischa, her tormentor, heating pad and pillow.
It was also necessary to have Simba put to sleep to ease her from her suffering. Her kidneys were also failing and she suffered great pain from diabetes and arthritis. I felt it was time to release her from her pain and let her pass peacefully.
It's a hard decision to end the life of someone you love. These cats gave me 20 years of unconditional love and companionship; I couldn't bear to see them in pain. I miss them both greatly and will never forget them.
Dutchess Callie Windsor (aka Cat)
Callie joined my family on May 24, 2003, shortly after my parents came for a visit, bringing with them their
seven-month-old Miniature Schnauzer "tornado" Hercules and their aging "flop cat" Amber. I hadn't intended on
adopting another cat, but quickly realized during my parents visit that I missed having a pudgy kitty under my arm as I
slept. A few days after my parents departed for home, I went to the local animal shelter, looking for another
fully-adult "flop cat" companion. Later that afternoon, I arrived home with "Callie", a seven-year-old Calico who
tipped the scales at sixteen and a half pounds. First order of business: Callie was on a diet to work on a more
healthy weight. She had already accepted her role as queen of the house and got along famously with Miguel, who
she swatted on the head with her paw when he got too rough.
Fast forward to 2009... as Homer Simpson once said Trying is the first step toward failing... a morbidly obese cat was be left that way. There was no purpose in starving a cat whose natural movement was comatose. What's the point to weight loss when the result was to go from little activity to none... while continuing to maintain an unhealthy weight.
Besides, I merely co-inhabited my home with Cat, as she became known. I loved her, but found it hard to like a cat who managed to make her presence known in the utmost of unpleasant ways.
She was a cat. My home was hers to track her toilet through...
But then... one day... she went away...
Callie has passed away. Another aging flop-cat with failing kidneys. Callie left the nest to the birds on March 13, 2009.
This page is now a graveyard to my many years with cats.