Smokey was her name. She was the other woman in my life; a kind and gentle soul always willing to run to greet me when I arrived home. When we first met, it was love at first sight. She nudged my leg with her nose and caressed it with her body. I reached down to pet her and it was obvious to me that she wanted to be closer to me. I gently lifted her into my arms for only a few short pets, then she was ready to get on with whatever she was doing. At dinner time she always knew when to show up. Her unique way of begging for a bite of human food always brought a smile to my face. She would sit up on her hind legs with her front paws outstretched as if to say, "Hey! Don't forget about me." And when I ventured close enough she would reach out with her paw and draw me closer to her. Could I resist giving her a scrap of food? I think not.

Wave bye, bye, Smokey! Smokey Charveze-James 1981 - November 7, 2000

Smokey was a friendly soul. The doorbell would ring and she would run to greet our guests. If no one paid attention to her, she would jump on her favorite chair in the kitchen, sit up on her hind legs, wave her front paws around until someone stopped to acknowledge her presence. She loved being the center of attention and Sandy and I loved having her in the spotlight.

I have memories of Christmas when she would knock an occasional ornament from the family tree to the soft carpet. Then she would hide between the packages with only her head peering from behind a giant box tied with colorful ribbons.

Although she seldom would allow me to hold her for more than a moment, after the lights went out she would often climb into bed beside Sandy and stay the night.

One "meow" meant, "I'm hungry. Please feed me." Two "meows" and I knew she meant business.

She often followed me from room to room not wanting to be alone. If I paid her no attention, she would demand it by jumping on my desk as papers scattered everywhere. Smokey knew about my secret drawer with the tuna-flavored kitty snacks. After enjoying several treats she would jump down, and walk to her favor chair, curl up and in a few minutes became a sound asleep contented cat.

Smokey was healthy, happy and excited about life. She would occasionally run though the house, her feet spinning as she rounded the corners, pausing only to catch her breath before she headed for her secret place in my office closet for a much needed snooze.

The night before she left us, I remember reaching to pick her up, softly placing her on my lap and heard a slight meow to express her pain. It was a rare occasion when she would allow me the pleasure of holding her. This night was different. It was as if she sensed that in less than 24 hours she would no longer be a part of my life.

I delicately stroked her head and back, aware that she might be in pain. Within minutes she was sound asleep in the safe harbor of my arms. I held her for nearly an hour. I must admit that while watching her sleep I softly spoke of our mutual love and understanding. I quietly expressed a prayer of thanksgiving to God that she had been a part of my life and for the nineteen years of joy she had shared with our family.

I cried tears of sadness when the doctor said she was not going to make it.

I will miss you, girl. I will miss your gentle kitty snuggle against my leg as I prepared your early morning breakfast.

I will remember our after-breakfast ritual when you followed me to the bathroom, jumped onto the counter and waited patiently for me to cup my hand to make a place from which you could lap a few teaspoons of fresh water as it dripped between my fingers.

I will remember how you would sit in the bathroom window while I shaved, diligently waiting for me to give you a few pats.

I will miss opening the closet door and hearing you meow a greeting to let me know not to fasten the door when I leave.

I will miss how you listened attentively, without judgment or conditions as I often expressed my concerns and deepest feelings to you. What a pal!

Although you are gone, once during the night Sandy and I were awakened when we heard you meow to let us know you were okay.

We love you, Smokey.

We shall forever cherish your memory.

Copyright © MM - Larry James

Read: "The Older Cat: Helping You to Recognize Decline and Extend Life" by Dan Poynter and "202 Pets' Peeves: Cats and Dogs Speak Out on Pesky Human Behavior" by Cal Orey

Also read: "Kittens! Why Do They Do What They Do?" by Penelope Milne

How Old is Your Cat?

Site Map