Eleanor died today.
It was the day I had been dreading for two months, but, for her sake, had been eager for since yesterday.
I don’t like cats. I mean, they’re fine. They’ve always just been there, lurking in the background until they’re crawling all over your lap when you’re trying to eat a taco or batting a rubber ball around the house at 4:40 a.m. when you’re trying to sleep (I’m looking at you, Gus).
Eleanor was different, though. When we lost Gus and were ready for a new cat, I picked her out from a local shelter’s website. I saw her furry body with her white furry chest and stubby legs and I had to have her. Never in my life had I wanted to cuddle something so badly. Her given name was Snickers.
I remember going to the foster’s home and hearing her say that nobody wanted her because she was “too old” (she was 1 1/2 at the time). I had been in a panic because surely SOMEBODY was going to snap her up. Her fluff! That heart-shaped nose! It broke my heart that, well, there was no need to panic. A couple of weeks later she was ours.
We were told that she wasn’t a lap cat and she didn’t like to snuggle. I don’t know what cat the foster had been living with, but Eleanor was most certainly a lap cat. Actually, she was more of a chest and neck cat. She loved to curl up with Danny, her body…
