![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
So as I told you, there'll be pictures. Milli has been gone a week. The missing her is sad, but having since researched a little about cat lung cancer, finding out it hit her at exactly the designated age, and that her suffering could have been so much worse if the disease did the more usual metastasizing in other systems, I feel grateful for how quickly the worst of the disease manifested and that she got to enjoy most of her life, almost up to the very end. So I'm celebrating that.
Mill was one to fix you with a very intense stare:
She had her moods when she wanted to be petted, and would beg me to pick her up and hold her for 10 to 20 minutes at a time, purring, stretching out her paws and dangling them over my shoulder, flexing her toes all the while. But more often she preferred to be near, not in contact; she was rarely a lap cat. She had a habit of fixing that stare at me, and when I'd look back, she'd blink her eyes in that loving kitty way that spoke of approval and adoration. I'd blink back in turn, and we could keep up that exchange for minutes on end. She was quite the blinker of sweet nuthins. (-;
And this is how and where she would spend a good part of most of her evenings the past year--in this fleece bun under a lamp and on the back of the sofa behind my head:
She tended to spend most of her nights there, too. You can click on any of these pics for enlargements.
And I'll be posting more pics of Milli's back, like this one below, because I was mesmerized by the patterns behind her head and down her back where the rust coloring against the black was strongest. Her paws shaded more to beige against the stripes, so it was as if someone took a bucket of rust paint and poured it over her head before they painted on the spots and stripes. Her rust, black, and white hairs were solid, but the beige hairs were ticked with black, white, and brown giving her fur a wild texture. Charlie the Coyote's assortment of fur colors--for those of you who get "The Daily Coyote" feed--reminds me of Milli's, except for his additional ticked and shining silvers.
The efficiency we used to live in, and in which Milli spent almost 10 years with me, was on the other side of that building out the window. The side we lived on had good sun, but we didn't have that wonderful tree-filled view that thickens out to the right beyond. She got to see a greater assortment of birds than ever before out that window, as well as a bunch more squirrels, rabbits, and raccoons, and the occasional fox and deer.
I also loved the white medallion on her chest, held by bands of jet and carnelian beads.
Milli had the sweetest, sweetest round face. But she was often quite offended by many things she encountered, and was one to project her disapproval with a twist of her cheeks and screwing up of her nose. This earned her the nickname, Church Lady, if you remember Dana Carvey's SNL character. Saki was often a source of Church Lady's disapproval: "Could it beeeee . . . SAKI!!?!!"
Yes, in the above picture, Milli did think you sucked, too, and were better off out of her sight so she could finish reading.
This pic is in the old efficiency shortly before I packed us up. She'd sometimes knead that stuffed cheetah, or lay her head on it.
And there is the source of much of Milli's disapproval:
Saki has been missing Milli. Last weekend, she looked quite a bit at Milli's window perch in the bathroom. She claimed the catnip pouch I got Milli on her last day and placed it in front of the refrigerator, sitting on it while watching the bathroom, as I fixed our meals at the kitchen sink behind her. I couldn't be sure if Saki was just missing the food she used to steal from Milli's perch after Milli would jump down, or if she was missing Milli as well. She's definitely missing that food, as I'm hearing extra crunching from her dried food bowl a lot more this week--a diet plan is in her and Moo's future. Still, a number of times over the week, I saw Saki staring at the empty green fleece bun on the back of the couch that only Milli slept in, and knew for sure she was missing her often aloof companion. She's given me some really hard looks this week as well, staring from the empty fleece bun to me, and has seemed sad at times. I'm giving her extra hugs and brushing, not that I don't need those hugs and purrs, too. I'm really glad we've got Tuxie and Moo to distract her and keep her company when I'm out. Three cats is still plenty of company. I just miss our sweet, beautiful fourth.
Mill was one to fix you with a very intense stare:
She had her moods when she wanted to be petted, and would beg me to pick her up and hold her for 10 to 20 minutes at a time, purring, stretching out her paws and dangling them over my shoulder, flexing her toes all the while. But more often she preferred to be near, not in contact; she was rarely a lap cat. She had a habit of fixing that stare at me, and when I'd look back, she'd blink her eyes in that loving kitty way that spoke of approval and adoration. I'd blink back in turn, and we could keep up that exchange for minutes on end. She was quite the blinker of sweet nuthins. (-;
And this is how and where she would spend a good part of most of her evenings the past year--in this fleece bun under a lamp and on the back of the sofa behind my head:
She tended to spend most of her nights there, too. You can click on any of these pics for enlargements.
And I'll be posting more pics of Milli's back, like this one below, because I was mesmerized by the patterns behind her head and down her back where the rust coloring against the black was strongest. Her paws shaded more to beige against the stripes, so it was as if someone took a bucket of rust paint and poured it over her head before they painted on the spots and stripes. Her rust, black, and white hairs were solid, but the beige hairs were ticked with black, white, and brown giving her fur a wild texture. Charlie the Coyote's assortment of fur colors--for those of you who get "The Daily Coyote" feed--reminds me of Milli's, except for his additional ticked and shining silvers.
The efficiency we used to live in, and in which Milli spent almost 10 years with me, was on the other side of that building out the window. The side we lived on had good sun, but we didn't have that wonderful tree-filled view that thickens out to the right beyond. She got to see a greater assortment of birds than ever before out that window, as well as a bunch more squirrels, rabbits, and raccoons, and the occasional fox and deer.
I also loved the white medallion on her chest, held by bands of jet and carnelian beads.
Milli had the sweetest, sweetest round face. But she was often quite offended by many things she encountered, and was one to project her disapproval with a twist of her cheeks and screwing up of her nose. This earned her the nickname, Church Lady, if you remember Dana Carvey's SNL character. Saki was often a source of Church Lady's disapproval: "Could it beeeee . . . SAKI!!?!!"
Yes, in the above picture, Milli did think you sucked, too, and were better off out of her sight so she could finish reading.
This pic is in the old efficiency shortly before I packed us up. She'd sometimes knead that stuffed cheetah, or lay her head on it.
And there is the source of much of Milli's disapproval:
Saki has been missing Milli. Last weekend, she looked quite a bit at Milli's window perch in the bathroom. She claimed the catnip pouch I got Milli on her last day and placed it in front of the refrigerator, sitting on it while watching the bathroom, as I fixed our meals at the kitchen sink behind her. I couldn't be sure if Saki was just missing the food she used to steal from Milli's perch after Milli would jump down, or if she was missing Milli as well. She's definitely missing that food, as I'm hearing extra crunching from her dried food bowl a lot more this week--a diet plan is in her and Moo's future. Still, a number of times over the week, I saw Saki staring at the empty green fleece bun on the back of the couch that only Milli slept in, and knew for sure she was missing her often aloof companion. She's given me some really hard looks this week as well, staring from the empty fleece bun to me, and has seemed sad at times. I'm giving her extra hugs and brushing, not that I don't need those hugs and purrs, too. I'm really glad we've got Tuxie and Moo to distract her and keep her company when I'm out. Three cats is still plenty of company. I just miss our sweet, beautiful fourth.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject