In spring 2002 we adopted a little white kitten with black, tan, and brown spots when she was about 10 weeks old from the Iowa City Animal Shelter. She climbed out of a pile of sleeping brother and sister kittens in the front room at the Animal Shelter's old location on South Dubuque Street and said, "Pick me! Pick me! I want outa here!"
My husband, Jim, and our daughter, Sarah, had been looking for a kitten.
Jim saw Gracie emerge from the pile of kittens, clinging to the side of her cage and mewing, and said to Sarah, "How about that little white one?"
We'd just lost our beautiful black and grey cat Sheba, who lived to be 18 years old and was one of the prettiest cats we'd ever had, and I didn't know if I could love a white cat with pinkish eyes.
That was before I fell madly in love with her kittenish antics. White was right. She was adorable. Gracie was determined to fit in with our family and even make friends with our older cat, Tigger, which took years.
On Dec. 21st, she stayed close to me, staying mostly by my side all day. On Dec 22nd, she helped me wrap Christmas presents all day. That is to say she lay in my work area, our bed, and stretched out luxuriously or curled up to one side as I wrapped. We were together all night. I couldn't sleep and cuddled with her all night long.
She purred and licked the side of my face enthusiastically under the covers. I kissed her head as she lay on top of my arm, as we'd done many times before. At 4:00 a.m. she left the bedroom and curled up in the bathroom sink to sleep. Shortly before 7:00 a.m., Jim woke me up saying, "Gracie's dead. What happened? Gracie's dead!"
He found her in the sink and said, "Gracie, what are you doing in the sink?" He expected a cheerful chirrup "hello," but she made no sound or movement. He petted her and ruffled her fur, speaking to her again. Nothing. He finally realized she'd died.
I had a bad feeling when I saw her start sleeping in the sink the week before she died because my little Georgie started sleeping in the sink 30 years ago the week before he died, and I was wondering if Gracie had a fever.
She was the sweetest little cat. She always chirruped "hello" when anyone, family member or cat, came into the room. She'd touch noses with Tigger, our older cat, and a well-known neighborhood cat, who we named Sugarfoot, who came over to visit.
I don't think I've ever had a sweeter cat, though I've had many sweet cats, particularly the kittens I've raised from when they're old enough to be separated from their mothers. I'll never forget LaLa, Georgie, Heidi, Sheba, or Gracie. They were special.
We had Gracie cremated at Faithful Companions, a pet cremation service at 210 Holiday Road in Coralville. Faithful Companions is operated by Alex Lensing, the son of Vicki Lensing. He was kind, professional, and was very helpful in our hour of need. We picked out a nice urn with impressions of cats in clay. Gracie's ashes are in a bag inside tied so as not to spill.
The urn has a saying on the bottom in idiomatic French on the bottom, something to the effect of, "When the cat's appetite is slaked, the mouse's bottom smells stinky." I'm glad it's in brief, idiomatic French. It's more dignified and more mysterious that way.
We also have two of Gracie's paw prints on paper and two samples of her fur, clean and blow-dried, tied up in bright red narrow ribbon.
We feel better having Gracie with us in a dignified urn, though we never before thought of doing such a thing, and we appreciate the thoughtful, kind professionalism of Faithful Companions. Thanks, Alex.