For Madame Skye

This is a picture of Madame on the back of the settee in my office.  Made a few years ago.

As I write this, our Madame Skye cat is still with us, but barely.  She is sleeping on the settee in my office, a favorite spot of hers, but her breathing is labored.  She won't be with us much longer, I know, even if we make it to the vet tomorrow and he is able to do something for her.  We have seen the x-rays.  There is cancer everywhere inside this poor kitty.  Yet, until very recently, she has had a pretty normal quality of life for an eleven year old cat with cancer.  As recently as last evening, she was chasing a string and following us around as we did things.  She got in my face as I was settling in to watch Doctor Who.  This morning, she was having trouble breathing, but we heard no congestion.  Still no congestion, just hard for her to breathe.  (Something inside in the way, I suspect.) 

This kitty is one who chose us.  We went to a PetSmart adoption event, and asked if they had any short-haired cats.  Madame was the only one left.  They had named her Skye, and as her coloring reminded me of the rock of the isles, I decided the name Skye could be kept.  Her attitude and bearing made us call her "Madame", however.  They told us she was "kinda standoffish."  As soon as Matt reached toward the cage when the girl opened the door, Skye got up, walked right into Matt's arms, reached for me, looked up at the girl and meowed, as if to say :  "Write up my release papers.  My staff has FINALLY showed up to bail me out." 
Skye is the cat who cannot resist a piece of string.  She must chase it, try to take it somewhere, hide it for later.  She loves her toy mice, plays with them excitedly, has tried to "drown" them in her water bowl. 

Madame loves Mozart.  She always listens to my voice practice, coming from wherever she has settled into the dining room to supervise.  Mozart is her favorite.  She loves "Deh viene non tardar, o gioja bella!" (from Nozze di Figaro) that it is what I must use to call her.  She will NOT come unless I sing that aria.  If Matt wants to call her, he has to flip the drawer pull on his desk drawer where he keeps the string. 

This cat will be SO missed.  She is the Regulator of the Household Daily Liturgy.  She it is who tells us when we should get up, when we should (she thinks, anyway) go to bed, when she should be fed, when we should go to work.  There have been rituals involved in all these things.  She MUST help me make the bed every morning, even if lately, that has been a very half-hearted attempt to grab the blanket when I spread it back on the bed to tuck it back in.  Every night for a long time, she had to have ice cubes put in her water dish.  I don't know why.  I get ice for my tumbler of water every night, and she started loudly demanding that she get some too.  This has stopped since she has been ill, but for awhile, it was part of the nightly ritual.  She always had to sit at the foot of the bed and watch Matt put on his lip balm before he retires for the night.  She also demands to be brushed if either of us gets out a hairbrush.  She hides from the doorbell, but if our friends the Rogerses come over, she demands that Michael sit down on the couch so she can trap his arm and go to sleep.  She is in heaven when Nancy also sits on the couch.  She traps them both.

I know we will soon be seeing her off to wait at the Rainbow Bridge with Taz and Dougal, and of course, Bear (HER dog).  I don't want to let her go, but if she is ready, I will send her off to keep Mr. Bear company until we get there.  He grumped at her a lot, but he let her sleep with him if she behaved. (She tried to bite him, which he did NOT appreciate.) 
Here are some pictures of Skye trapping Mike and Nancy:

And here is a picture of her snoozing on my settee today:

I will add more when we know more. 
We have just returned from a rushed trip to the emergency vet.  Madame Skye passed away on the way up there.  She had severe problems breathing, and was vomiting, so we rushed her up there, but it was already too late.  We knew she would go soon.  I miss her already.  My Opera Cat.


Here is a picture of her just last night, she climbed up on me to watch Doctor Who with me.

Sorry.  Crying too much to type any more.