My sweet Pu Chi passed away, Friday morning, 2/13/15, at 6:50 a.m. CST. She was my dear companion for nearly 18 years. Our time together ended much like it began, in a shotgun apartment (you can stand at one end and fire a shotgun shell through the entire apartment, without hitting any walls). We connected in August 1997, while I was living in North St. Louis City and working at a major law firm in downtown St. Louis. My son was 14, getting ready to start high school, living with his father. I had a roommate, but he wasn't extremely fond of animals. A legal secretary at the law firm was giving kittens away. Their mother had been put down, and she was desperate to find homes for the babies. Pu Chi was the last one, and the tiniest one. I think I could have held her comfortably in one hand. It was me and her, from the beginning. She would warm up to others, throughout her life, but, bottom line, she was mine, and I was hers.
By the end of August, I had moved into a house, in St. John, a suburb NW of St. Louis, My son moved in with me. For his birthday, my son's girlfriend gave him a puppy, whom he named Cloud. Pu Chi and Cloud were very close in age and grew up together. She enjoyed mothering him. Five years later, I got another kitten, Goku, which presented another opportunity for Pu Chi to show off her mothering talents. Then, Nate got another dog. Pu Chi didn't mother this one. She spent the time necessary to help the other pets in the house to understand that she was the Alpha female. All other animals in the house were to answer to her, and she answered only to me.
In August 2003, my mother and I moved into a house together, in Overland, a suburb west of St. Louis. Nate, who was nearly 21, stayed in the house in St. John. I took the two cats with me. At first, my mother insisted that the cats stay in my living quarters, upstairs. However, once she noticed that I was spending more time in my living quarters than in hers, she agreed to let the cats have the freedom to roam the entire house. I think it was 2008, when I purchased a big comfy recliner for the TV room. I had bought it for my mother, but she didn't care for it. It actually became Pu Chi's chair, with the understanding that she would only use it, when someone was reclining in it. Whoever was reclining in it became her pillow. There were times when she preferred to sit in mother's chair with her, but she always claimed the recliner as hers. When my mother moved to Kentucky to live with my brother, in 2010, I kept Pu Chi and the recliner, as I moved from place to place, before finally settling in a shotgun apartment in Peoria, Illinois.
She left this earth with me as her pillow, on her recliner. She had been in the habit of greeting me at the door, when I came home from work. A few months ago, she was diagnosed with kidney disease. Over the last week or two, I noticed she stopped eating and began to lose weight. I set up a bed for her in the bathroom, by the radiator, the warmest place in our home. When I got home from work, on Thursday, 2/12/15, she did not greet me. I found her in her bed, in the bathroom, unwilling to get up. After getting myself something to eat and getting ready for bed, I picked her up and brought her into the front room, so I could be her pillow on the recliner. She was still sleeping, when I woke up at 6:00 a.m. I put her in the recliner, while I got ready for work, and then resumed my position as her pillow, until she took her last breath, at 6:50 a.m. I was able to hold her, stroke her, and talk to her, until she was gone. I am so grateful I was able to share her last moments.
She was a devoted companion, always there for me, never judging me, and I know she truly loved me unconditionally. I will miss her very much.
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