Squeaky.   And what she taught us about time.  

I didn't want another cat.  Mark was in an impossible position.   Our current count was four and Squeaky would put us at five. To be fair, I didn't even really know her.  For some reason I'd drawn the arbitrary Crazy Cat Lady line at a six-pack and in my head five would put us precariously close to going over the edge.  Mark's dad had passed away, his mom was moving and she wasn't taking Squeaky.  Squeaky would either be relegated to becoming the neighbor's full time outdoor barn cat at thirteen years of age or we would take her.  I was pissed. Mark envisioned coyotes, cars, cold.... and knew it wouldn't end well. He fought for her.  So she came.  

Showing off her vocabulary

Napping buddies before she came to us

Upon arrival it became clear, nobody puts Squeaky in a corner.  In the assimilation process we started her out in the fifth wheel.  We figured she'd find comfort in something familiar as it was the very fifth wheel previously owned by Mark's parents and she seemed to know her way around it.  The first night she shredded the screens trying to get out.  She was promptly rewarded by being graduated to the large garage.  There she literally swung from the rafters and, after about a week, broke out a window.  Well then.  In to the house she came to own the entire second floor where she had run of both our offices, the pain cave and a large bonus room. Still, in the mornings she let us know this was wholly unacceptable!    By the time we moved to Oregon she'd assumed her proper place as Queen running both floors of the entire house, plus the garage while purring herself to sleep on my pillow each night.  

Nobody puts Squeaky in a corner, petulant toddler edition 

Swinging from the rafters 

With five cats all in their teenaged years, we came to call our household "Chateau Edwards Home for Geriatric Felines."  Falling in love with a thirteen year old cat made me angry all over again.  Why hadn't we just taken her sooner?  How much time would we actually have with her?  How could we make the most of the time we did have?

Hanging out at work

She was our constant companion with a huge, sweet personality and an extensive vocabulary. In the mornings she'd come running to sit on laps for coffee and supervise workouts.  In the office she hung out on my keyboard and made herself known in meetings.  Sometimes if the meeting required some modicum of professionalism, maybe one that would be best without a cat licking your face, I'd try to get her to settle on my lap, aim the camera up and hope for the best.    We took walks on a harness outside, she laid on my chest for foam rolling sessions and thought hanging out in the shop with Mark was absolutely the coolest thing ever.  

Mark's shop buddy

Alarm bells started to go off when she started to lose weight.  The diagnosis didn't seem to fit. She continued to lose weight and, after a couple of months, I pressed for a second opinion.  Yep, misdiagnosis.  I was pissed all over again. "I feel like the clock is ticking." I said to my mom as I watched her wither away. "The clock is always ticking." Mom said.   

 Stage five clinger status firmly established

We cherished every moment even more dearly.  Walks on the harness eventually became walks in our arms.  She took in the scenery and purred and purred and purred. She was getting the right treatment but was still slipping away. I fed her constantly like a baby bird to no avail.  Then, it was clear there was no time left.   The vet helped us say goodbye at home, still purring in my lap.   "And poof, she's a memory." said Mark. 

"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind." - Nathaniel Hawthorne

Grass is good

Our next family member will be welcomed to our home, newly dubbed Squeaky's Sanctuary, with open arms, even if we do get a bit close to that Crazy Cat Lady line.  Squeaky taught us that we have plenty of room in our home and in our hearts but only so much time.