My Lily

Lily is my first cat. Of all the cats, she was the first. Not in my life, though. I grew up with cats and have almost always had one. I found Lily after a day or two of non-stop crying that I couldn’t locate. A neighbor could hear the crying as well and we looked and looked everywhere to find her. Finally, the day before I was to leave for a trip to Milwaukee, I went outside one more time. There was a cat crying, but as I walked the length of the property, it was silent. It had poured rain the night before in a terrific Midwest thunderstorm and had wondered once again if the cat was stuck in the building or outside. We just couldn’t tell.

I walked back to the front of the property and as I turned to walk up the steps, I saw movement. There she was, a tiny kitten barely old enough to be away from momma: A little brown face peeking out of the shrub looking at me. I fell in love right then and there. I reached out my hands and said soothing things and made motherly noises. She was so tiny I named her Little and really her name Lily came from Little, Lilliputian, Lil, Lily.

Lily is on the right

I fed her weaning formula and I kept her in the bathtub to keep her from harm when she was alone in the house that first weekend. She wasn’t alone much. I cancelled my trip to Milwaukee at the last minute and spent the weekend on the couch with her balled up on my collarbone – she was that small!

I could go on and on about life with Lily. Truly the smartest cat I’ve ever had. She trained easily and so, with her harness and leash, she went everywhere with me: road trips, visits to the neighbors, Sunday afternoon in the local park or the front yard, you name it.

Now Lily is older, not as old as some cats when they start slowing down. Since May, Lily has lost 25% of her body weight. She’s had some issues with her lungs, she vomits more than most cats and so on. But she’s still feisty and she’s still hoping she can be an only cat again some day soon.

I love my sweet Lily, my feisty, crabby old lady.