Ode to Mist

 

Yesterday was a day of sadness and anger for me, for the youngest of our feral cats walked across the Rainbow Bridge entering the Summerland. The sadness was for the loss of a free spirit and the anger at whoever poisoned her, and some anger that I have not been able to find work that would allow me to better take care of the cats.

Mist showed up as a very small kitten between Christmas 2011 and Jan 1st, 2012. A solid grey cat with a touch of white on its chest. The kitten was very small with crossed eyes. Laura and I, originally thought that the crossed eyes would be a hindrance for Mist, but it didn’t seem to prevent her from running, jumping or hunting.

I do believe that it did prevent her from seeing things up close, and for the longest time she would move away if we tried to approach her. These last two month she actually would come up to us and allow us to pet her. Thus another reason for the sadness in my heart.

Mist was one of the fastest cats I have ever seen. That was one reason why I decide to name her Mist, for trying to catch her,  was like trying to grab and hold the early morning mist.

She was also a good hunter, often bringing down squirrels that were larger that she was.

She disappeared for five days and when she returned she was very emaciated, and she allowed me to hold her and pet her, trying to send healing energy to her. Before she disappeared she was a healthy, vibrant 1 3/4 year old cat.

It was hard to watch her go, and she would often wander away from the bed we made for her on the back porch. She wanted to still run and be free.

There are three other ferals or abandoned cats in our yard and of course the neighbor cats now lives in our yard 20 hours a day. Mist was the only one that liked to wander and explore, the others stay mostly in our yard or on the back porch

Laura and I buried her last night and planted a Japanese Maple over her, the tree was on the deck in a pot that Mist would often lay beneath the tree in the pot.

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One thought on “Ode to Mist

  1. Life is a dream – that knows no shade.
    Life is a dream – of pain and woe.
    A dream from which – we pray to wake.
    A dream from which – we wake and go.
    Who would sleep – when the new dawn waits?
    Who would sleep – when the sweet winds blow?
    A dream must end – when the new day comes.
    This dream from which – we wake and go.
    Robert Jordan

    Mist go, run wild and free into the Summerland

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