Back in 2009, my good friend and fellow animal lover Wendy heard of a litter of stray kittens. Without a second thought, she skipped out from a family event in order to rescue them. The story of her chasing them around a parking lot while wearing heels and a fancy dress gets funnier each time she tells it.
Long story short, I ended up with two of those kittens. A tortoise shell I named River (after River Tam from Firefly), and a lynx point Siamese I named Chiana (after the alien from Farscape).
Baby River
Baby Chiana
I hate to say it, but Chiana was not the first kitten that I wanted. Nor the second. Honestly, she was my last choice. But as Life so often happens, she was the one I ended up with. As it turns out, she was the one who stole my heart. For the next seven and a half years, she became my partner and my snuggle buddy. Sometimes she was my stalker.
I woke up one night to the sound of the local police helicopter circling overhead. It was 1am and I had fallen asleep on the couch with only the sliding screen between me and the outside world. I got that prickly feeling on the back of my neck, like I was being watched, and was a little nervous. Until I looked up and saw Chiana above me, just staring. Thanks for the mini heart-attack, Cat.
She was affectionate to the extreme and loved to sleep in bed with me, burrowing under the blankets, or hugging my arm. She liked to sit on my chest while I’d watch TV, purrs rumbling in her little chest. Every so often she’d reach out a tiny paw and touch my face, as if making sure I was still there. She’d make writing impossible by walking all over the keyboard, and I swear she was trying to kill me when she’d run between my feet as I headed downstairs.Being part Siamese, she was chatty and gregarious, and not afraid to tell me how she felt. On more than one occasion I found myself wishing I could
“speak Chi”. She loved to play with her favorite toy, a bunch of feathers on a stick with a little bell in woven in. She’d drag that thing around the house at all hours, begging someone to play with her. Have you ever heard a cat meow with it’s mouth full? It sounds like a baby crying. Freaked me out the first few times she did that. She’d drag it into bed at 3am wanting to play, even if I wasn’t there. On more than one occasion I came home to find that toy in my bed with Chiana sleeping right next to it, as if waiting for me to come home and play. Even these past few weeks at the vet, she’d still find something to play with…even if it was the IV tube giving her fluids. When that failed, and she wanted attention, she’d meow at the vet techs until they stopped and would pet her through the bars of her kennel.Leaving the house for any length of time was interesting. Whether I was going to work or travelling to the other side of the world. She’d always
follow me to the door, but wouldn’t try to run outside. She’d sit right by the front until I walked out. And when I returned, she’d be sitting in the same place. But she always knew something was up when the suitcase came out. As soon as I started to pack things inside it, she would hide under the nearest blanket and pout.
But when I returned, no matter how long I’d been gone, she’d be standing on the kitchen counter, yelling in my face. She’d give me a piece of her mind for leaving her before jumping onto the couch with me, burrowing under my arm so I could hug her, purring until she fell asleep.
She was a sneaky little thing, always using her big blue eyes and their perpetual innocent expression to her best advantage. You’d never think she could be so naughty, but she didn’t earn the name Klepto Cat for nothing. She’d steal items and secret them away, not to be found for days or weeks. Most notably were Dad’s driving glasses–only by seeing her carry them down the hallway did we figure out the truth!
The face of a criminal
Like many Siamese, Chiana was a little bit cross-eyed and her vision wasn’t that great–depth perception and low light were her enemies. I can’t tell you how many times she had to be rescued from high shelves, or the top of the flat-screen TV. One time, she escaped to the garage and climbed up into the attic where she got stuck. Not truly stuck, mind, but stuck on top of the boxes she had climbed up. But the dim light and her poor eyesight conspired against her and she couldn’t see her way back down. So she sat there, crying pitifully for about ten minutes before we figured out what was going on. It was a forty-five minute rescue operation to get her back down and into the house.
Chi was the littlest cat, topping out at a whopping 7.2 pounds. But what she lacked in size, she made up for with her big personality. Affectionate and cuddly, she would always throw her head against me in her imitation of a hug. She couldn’t stand to be too far away from me, and if it was late and she was tired, she would just sleep in the same room, covering her eyes when the lights got too bright. She always pretended to be braver than she actually was. When the Elders would open the door, she’d 
dash out, eager to explore the great outdoors. Until, that is, she was out in the great outdoors. Then she’d freeze, lying on her belly with her eyes wide and looking around. She’d lay there, meowing the entire time, until someone came and brought her back inside.She loved to wrestle and start play fights with River, but could never follow through and always ended up on the losing end. They always made up, though. I would always find them snuggled up in my bed, hugging each other. Chi’s creamy and slightly pink colored coat entwined with River’s mottled browns and oranges. Mom liked to call them Yin-Yang. I called them my bookends.
If you follow me on facebook or instagram, you’ll know that I had to say goodbye to my Chiana last week. Over the past few weeks, I had been taking her back and forth to the emergency vet every few days. She had eaten some Christmas decorations–the first time in over seven years she had done so–and needed emergency surgery. The procedure went well, but it ultimately triggered an underlying intestinal problem that neither the vet nor I were aware she had. That led to a massive internal infection that did not present any outward symptoms until it was too late. As sick as she was, there was little chance of her surviving a surgery to fix her intestines, and even if she did survive, she never would have fully recovered. It wasn’t fair to put her through so much trauma knowing she would be, at best, uncomfortable for the rest of her life.
So I made the decision to let her go. When they brought her in to us, she was so sick. Though medicated for pain and somewhat unresponsive, as soon as they placed her on the seat next to me, she became agitated and started fussing about. She refused to settle down until she had crawled out of her bed and into my arms where she stayed, purring, until the end.
As sick as she was, all she wanted was hugs.
I miss my little kitty every day. She had been a part of my home and family since she was eight weeks old and now there is a giant hole in my heart the size of her big personality. It’s amazing how the littlest critters make the biggest impact.
People always talk about their “once in a lifetime” pets. Usually in reference to the most loyal of dogs. I didn’t have that. I had the most loyal of cats. A one in a million. The vet called her one of the luckiest strays, and Dad would always say I was her world.
For being the consolation prize, the little runt I didn’t want, she was my world, too.
Be at peace, my sweet girl.
Your turn
Have you ever had a Once In A Lifetime Pets? Tell us a little about him or her.
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