There’s definitely something missing in our household lately.
Our pretty little female cat, Andi, passed away last week after apparently being attacked by something in the wee hours of one morning (maybe an owl or a fox – we don’t know).
She received attention from a highly qualified local veterinarian after her assumed encounter with a predator, but she didn’t make it – despite putting up what a representative of the vet called “a good fight” to live.
Many people who have pets totally understand how I feel right now. They’re a part of the family, and Andi’s absence hurts.
I miss her swirling around my legs in the morning when she wants breakfast. I miss seeing her lying around on the couch, the porch swing or on the cool cement in the car port on a 97-degree summer afternoon.
I miss hearing her vocalization when she “wants in” at dinner time. I miss watching her play on the lawn with her dog Scotty (the Scottie). And I miss seeing her big eyes looking up at me as she generally enjoyed being alive.
I miss Miss Andi.
But the reality is, my wife Wendy and I were very blessed to have spent a bit more than a year in this animal’s presence.
Andi came to us on Aug. 29, 2024, and we figure she was born sometime close to July 9, 2024. Wendy was driving home one day and came across a little kitten alongside the road leading toward our house that was probably a “drop off” and was obviously not happy about being there. Wendy got out of the vehicle and the kitty was screaming, and it came right up to her.
That’s because Andi knew she had met her destiny. Wendy put her in the vehicle and took her “home.”
And I’ll tell you what, Andi was at home right away. No more than two hours after she arrived, she had thoroughly investigated the property near the house and was lounging on the front porch swing with us. From then on, it was easy to tell that Andi was in her element.
For the next year or so, she ended up being the ruler of a large territory around the house, The whole time, she was hilarious to be around. She had this incredibly vivacious personality, and absolutely loved pretty much every aspect of her daily existence.
Like taking walks with the family. When Wendy, myself and Scotty would go for a mile-or-so walk on the gravel road, Andi would be right there keeping up.
Like climbing trees. On numerous occasions, she would become half-wild and literally run up a tree on our forested acerage. One time she was a good 20 feet above ground, but confidently shimmied down to about the 6-foot level and then simply jumped back to Earth from there.
Like hanging out with me while I worked outside. I have never seen (or heard of) a cat exhibiting this kind of behavior, but if I was doing something like chopping wood in the winter or clearing ground in the spring, Andi would almost always be nearby, as if she wondered if there might be a way she could help.
Like the wood stove in winter. She definitely figured out that heat was coming from that thing, and she would lie down somewhere within range of absorbing some.
Like snow. Andi only got to live through one winter, but there were several snow storms and she enjoyed the heck out of each one. The first time she saw snow was classic; she was on auto-pilot and stopped in her tracks, and then basically ran around the yard acting like she was trying to bite the white stuff.
Like Scotty (the Scottie). Watching these two animals enjoy chasing each other, lying down together on the couch or in the yard, or just generally appreciating each other’s company was always heart-warming.
Like food. Oh man, Andi was a serious eater. She liked to follow a fairly consistent three-meals-a-day schedule, and she was always excited about having a bowl full of food placed in front of her.
Like her home and family. Lying on the cement walkway, napping on the porch swing or rocking chair, leaping after grasshoppers on the lawn – whatever a particular moment offered, Andi took full advantage. For real, this cat was always totally engaged with her situation.
Anyway, being a dog or cat owner inevitably means dealing with loss. And in my experience (like so many other people), it’s never welcome and never easy.
But looking back on the good times always brings a smile, because these animals God puts in our care are special beyond words.
A friend of Wendy’s summed it up by sort of paraphrasing a Bible scripture (Matthew 10:29): “Not even a sparrow falls to the earth without our Father, who is love,” she said.
We often referred to Andi as the “Kitty Kitty.” I wish the Kitty Kitty still here, but I’m grateful she was for a while.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.
