glenda, RIP

We had to put down our old cat this morning. She was 18 years old. Glenda and her brother Ziggy were 8 weeks old when Partner adopted them from the Austin pound. A year later, I met Partner and we started our family together.

The number of paws have changed in our household, but Glenda has been a constant with her orange-beige and white markings. She was a psychological terrorist to others, including a vetenary resident at the Friendship Animal hospital in DC. Our Austin vet asked us to never board her there again -- they had to cover up the cage with a towel. In her younger days, we've had cat sitters who were totally scared of her although she never bit anyone. She knew how to dish out disdain and anger -- our neighbor told me this morning that he always admired her honesty when she slapped at him after he fed her. He called her Joan Crawford.

A vet friend came over and administered a sedative and then the drug that killed her. She hated vet trips, and I was glad that her last experience was quiet and at home. It was time, probably past time, and yet we felt guilt and sadness along with relief that she is not suffering. And in the end, it was peaceful.

Earlier this morning, I dug a deep hole. With all the rain, the ground was soft, but actually not too muddy. I then dug up a redbud that was growing in the front yard too close to the house and the drive. We wrapped Glenda in a sheet, and I buried her deep down, and then planted the small redbud over her.

Rest in peace, dear girl, and may light perpetual shine upon you.