R.I.P., Nikki

If you are reading this, you should know that I, Nikki, wrote it. It's my obituary, and I wanted it to be in my words. I passed over today, May 25, at 10:30 in the morning.

I had a terrific life. I came into the world in Lewiston, Idaho, in September, 1994. I was the offspring of a wild barn cat and a tom who was "just passing through." I lived in Uncle Glenn and Aunt Michelle's barn for a few weeks. During that time, Aunt Michelle captured me and began socializing me. I was about three weeks old when my permanent human mother, Betsy, saw me. I was so cute she decided to invite me to live with her and my human father, Terry.

There was only one tiny problem. Uncle Glenn and Aunt Michelle lived in Idaho; Mom and Dad-to-be lived in Ohio. Not a big problem. Uncle Glenn got me a frequent flyer card and delivered me to Ohio just before Christmas.

I loved my new home. My new parents fussed over me (what's not to fuss over with a calico?), gave me a nice house to live in, plenty of toys, lots of good food, and a seemingly endless supplies of mousies in the back yard. I became the mouse killer of the neighborhood.

After a few years, Mom and Dad moved me to Virginia, where I had another nice house and more backyard mousies to eat. We were happy in northern Virginia, until both of my parents got restless and bought some land at Smith Mountain Lake.

They built a house and began taking me to the lake almost every weekend. I had my own traveling condo, a nice cage Dad raised so that I could look outside. Mom says I was a really good traveler. I liked looking out the window, but I liked getting to one of my two houses more. How many cats do you know who have the suburban house AND the country house? Well, I did.

I confess I was ready for my transient life to end. Four years ago it did, when Mom and Dad promised me I wouldn't have to move again. They were almost right. I grew mature and wise on the sunny deck and under my very own miniature Japanese maple tree. I slept in puddles of sunlight on the rug, lay under the Christmas tree and played "find the cat" among the presents, enjoyed drinks of shower water, and many lap naps and pats from my parents. I loved lying on Mom's tummy when she stretched out to read, and I loved lying on Dad's legs at night to watch TV. I didn't like being evicted from tummy and lap with complaints that I was too heavy. I wasn't heavy; I was fluffy.

I declined over the past few months. About three weeks ago, my private friend, Karen, gave Mom a communication from me. I told Karen to tell Mom I was ready to go when I got too frail. She and Dad cried but listened to what I had to say.

Last week, I got really sick, but no one knew it. I got attacked by the bully in the neighboorhood. This mean cat bit me on the shoulder, but I didn't know it. I knew he bit my ear, but no one knew about the shoulder. I grew a large absess that finally broke open this week. I couldn't fight this off, and I didn't want to. I gave Mom and Dad plenty of love the last two days. Then I asked them to help me go into the light, my last move. Today, they did.

Please don't cry for me. I had a great life and left it much loved, with memories no one can take away. I hope Mom and Dad stop crying soon. Eventually, I want them to get another calico. It won't be me, but they have so much love to give any calico who came to live with them would be in Kitty Nirvana.

Good bye, my friends. I had a great life. and I had the last word.