Pudd’n left this world last night at around 10 p.m. She was nearly 18 years old.
My husband got Pudd’n from a pet store in Kentucky when she was a tiny kitten, just a gray ball of fluff that fit in the palm of his hand. The store sold her as a “Patio Kitten,” which seems an odd attempt at marketing, especially since Pudd’n never much liked the patio. Instead, she preferred to snuggle in a chair somewhere, or nestle in the crook of my husband’s arm.
The past few months had been increasingly difficult for Pudd’n. She had trouble eating; when she did eat, she had trouble keeping the food down.
Last week she made two trips to the vet, as we wrestled with the euthanasia issue. She had bounced back from the edge before, but it seemed unlikely this time.
Finally last night, as we stroked her fur and told her how much we loved her, she made her transition.
Today in heaven’s living room a fluffy gray cat has claimed a sunny patch on the rug. She licks her paw, stretches, and settles in for a nap. She is home.
