In May of 2006 I took the train from Kensington Olympia to Wimbledon to pick up a kitten for my daughter. The kittens were all tabby’s except for one little black female with a white locket on her chest. She was perfect. I placed her in a cardboard carrier and started off for home. The little kitten did not like the sounds of the London tube, so I opened the box and gave her some reassurance on the way home. Little did I know then that she would end up being my cat, my loving companion and family.
That first night in our London flat, Shadow cried endlessly. She reminded me of a newborn baby. Desperate for sleep I brought her up onto my chest and she calmed and fell to sleep. This became a routine, even into adulthood.
Shadow was always the happiest when she was near me. If she couldn’t be on me, she’d take the next best thing–sleeping at my feet or finding a nearby perch. My first attempts to keep her out of my studio were futile. She cried and cried until I opened the door and then promptly found a place to nap. I never had any issues with her disturbing my paints. She was a true Studio Cat.
Even when I brought her home from the hospital last week she was so happy to be with me. She’d run to me, outstretch one paw and begin purring the second I touched her. She was only 7 years old when she left us. I always told her, in a quiet whisper, that I’d love her forever, and I will. I miss you my sweet girl.
We buried her this past weekend. The hollow pain in my chest has not lessened. But I am finding joy in remembering those wonderful moments we shared. I’ve also decided to make her grave a garden (see first photo above). It’s a work in progress, but in time she will be surrounded always with beauty.