My beautiful cat companion died, and this entry may sound sappy, but everything I say needs to be said. For me, and for her.

Her name was Kitty Posse- is Kitty Posse, because to me she'll never really be gone. Her nickname was opossum (because of Posse), and I loved her. She's been in the family since I was four and was the first cat I ever had. She had torotiseshell fur- it was so beautiful- with a face that was half ginger and half dark. She was grumpy and independent when she was young, but in her old age she became much more gentle and loving, enjoying attention and being petted. She was always regal, like a queen, and she knew it was her place to be respected and admired. She never begged for attention- instead she would bless you with her presence, walking in for a quick pet or nuzzle, then leaving as quickly as she had come. She had a personality, and no matter what people may say, you could see the emotion in her eyes.

Opossum had a minor hernia on her belly, nothing that needed surgery, but it irritated her enough that we had to pick her up gently. When I was little, I used to dress her up in my doll baby clothes. In retrospect, it's no wonder she was grumpy towards me, but she never hated me. Even when I would annoy the hell out of her, she always let me hold her later.

I would like to say that Opossum was closest to me, but that's not true. My second oldest brother and her had a unique bond, and she spent much of her indoor life curled up on his printer or moniter, or spilling his coffee on the keyboard. I feel so bad for him right now- I don't think he knows of our lose yet.

Opossum lived a good, long life, and died at the age of thirteen. The last three or four years or so she lived outside, and I wish I could change that now. Maybe she would have lived longer if she would have spent her entire life inside, but she was happy outdoors. Opossum was a good hunter, and frequently brought mice and moles around (as gifts to the family?). During the winter we would bring her in to the closed in porch, where I would make her a bed out of towels and one of my hoodies, and we would warm up milk and/or tuna for her, in order to help ease her aching bones and help her sleep better. Opossum started to develop minor arthritus in the end, which became noticible on cold or wet days. She was stiff in the winter, but lilthe as ever in the summer, frequently climbing trees or onto roof tops.

I miss Opossum. We didn't find her body, but the landlord's grandson saw her lying in the field for days. They searched for the body when the boy told our landlord what he saw, but couldn't find it. It hurts me to know that she died that way- alone in a field or ate by scavengers. At least I know she lived a good life, and was loved by the family. She was spayed at a young age and never had kittens, but even so, she had human family and a good, feline friend by the name of Mischief.

In Opossum's last days she didn't come back to the house. We searched for weeks, but assumed she was just on a trip (we live in the country, and the cats will occasionally disappear for a few days.) We grew concerned, however, because she usually would return after three days or so. We called for her and searched, and eventually she came back. When she returned, however, she was distant. She snarled when we tried to pick her up, and tried to scratch and claw us. She nibbled at her food, and soon disappeared again. I wish now she would have stayed and spent her last days on the porch, surrounded by food and love, but she ran off to die alone. I'm afraid it may have been rabies she had, because her vaccination was outdated, but I hope it was just oldage.

I loved Opossum. She was a great cat- with every bit of love and personality as a human-person, and I wish she could have had a little more time with us.

Good Bye, Opossum baby, I hope you're in a good place.