RIP Vanna T. Kittygirl
Oct. 1st, 2008 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bex77OBITUARY
Vanna T. Kittygirl
September 30, 2008
Cambridge, MA
Vanna T. Kittygirl, a Turkish van feline, age 14, died suddenly today in her home of unknown causes. Her human roommates, Neil P. Marsh and Beckie Hunter, greatly mourn her passing. Her nemesis, Sherlock, howls. Beckie found her on the bedroom floor, peacefully quiet, when she came home this evening. As her morning treat had not been consumed, they assume she had been gone most of the day. She will be laid to rest in Arlington on October 1. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in her name to the Saints Meows cat shelter in Somerville, or any no-kill animal shelter in your area.
MEMORIES
Vanna had lived in the Hunter/Marsh household for ten years. She lived outdoors during the wet summer of 1998 with her son, the blue-eyed boy, and was seen around the neighborhood. Upon their return from the Pride March, she greeted Neil at the front door of the condo building. Neil said, “I’ll pick her up and see what she does. If she’s calm, we’ll try taking her inside.” For the only time in their friendship, Vanna allowed him to pick her up and was not only cooperative, but rubbed him along the neck to signify her sweet nature and willingness to be adopted. They thought she was gray, but after a brief period of steady food and water, she groomed herself to her natural state of pristine white perfection, with a caramel head mask and tail. Her paws, burned by walking on the resealed driveway, soon healed. Neil tried to bring in her son as well, but he had disappeared. He was later seen in the window of a neighbor.
Vanna had a memorable first visit to Angell Memorial Hospital. Instead of being frightened, she willingly exited the carrier and explored the exam room. When the doctor arrived, she hopped up on the exam table, greeting the vet with a trumpet call, and allowed herself to be examined. The vet said she was about four years old, had delivered at least one litter of kittens, and was in good health.
Vanna loved to “read the paper” sitting in the big condo window each morning to survey the goings-on below. She loved fish of all kinds, but most of all tuna. She was not a fan of “people-food,” allowing her roommates to eat their meals unmolested. She was not an early riser, or feline alarm clock, preferring to start her day whenever her roommates arose. She was an expert in creative paw display and had hoped to be featured in a pictorial edition of “56 Ways to Elegantly Display Appendages.”
Vanna lived amiably with feline roommates Duke, and then Winston. She was never able to acclimate to Sherlock, who arrived in 2004, despite many attempts, due to his violent nature, so she was given her own domain, queen of the master bedroom and bathroom. She cheerfully sequestered herself there, cuddling, accepting tummy rubs or playing “kick-kick-bite-bite” with Beckie or Neil. Despite daily questioning from Beckie, she never reported catching any birds, mice, bugs or eels.
“She’s a little kittygirl, living in her kittyworld, isn’t she a bit like you and me...”
Vanna T. Kittygirl
September 30, 2008
Cambridge, MA
Vanna T. Kittygirl, a Turkish van feline, age 14, died suddenly today in her home of unknown causes. Her human roommates, Neil P. Marsh and Beckie Hunter, greatly mourn her passing. Her nemesis, Sherlock, howls. Beckie found her on the bedroom floor, peacefully quiet, when she came home this evening. As her morning treat had not been consumed, they assume she had been gone most of the day. She will be laid to rest in Arlington on October 1. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in her name to the Saints Meows cat shelter in Somerville, or any no-kill animal shelter in your area.
MEMORIES
Vanna had lived in the Hunter/Marsh household for ten years. She lived outdoors during the wet summer of 1998 with her son, the blue-eyed boy, and was seen around the neighborhood. Upon their return from the Pride March, she greeted Neil at the front door of the condo building. Neil said, “I’ll pick her up and see what she does. If she’s calm, we’ll try taking her inside.” For the only time in their friendship, Vanna allowed him to pick her up and was not only cooperative, but rubbed him along the neck to signify her sweet nature and willingness to be adopted. They thought she was gray, but after a brief period of steady food and water, she groomed herself to her natural state of pristine white perfection, with a caramel head mask and tail. Her paws, burned by walking on the resealed driveway, soon healed. Neil tried to bring in her son as well, but he had disappeared. He was later seen in the window of a neighbor.
Vanna had a memorable first visit to Angell Memorial Hospital. Instead of being frightened, she willingly exited the carrier and explored the exam room. When the doctor arrived, she hopped up on the exam table, greeting the vet with a trumpet call, and allowed herself to be examined. The vet said she was about four years old, had delivered at least one litter of kittens, and was in good health.
Vanna loved to “read the paper” sitting in the big condo window each morning to survey the goings-on below. She loved fish of all kinds, but most of all tuna. She was not a fan of “people-food,” allowing her roommates to eat their meals unmolested. She was not an early riser, or feline alarm clock, preferring to start her day whenever her roommates arose. She was an expert in creative paw display and had hoped to be featured in a pictorial edition of “56 Ways to Elegantly Display Appendages.”
Vanna lived amiably with feline roommates Duke, and then Winston. She was never able to acclimate to Sherlock, who arrived in 2004, despite many attempts, due to his violent nature, so she was given her own domain, queen of the master bedroom and bathroom. She cheerfully sequestered herself there, cuddling, accepting tummy rubs or playing “kick-kick-bite-bite” with Beckie or Neil. Despite daily questioning from Beckie, she never reported catching any birds, mice, bugs or eels.
“She’s a little kittygirl, living in her kittyworld, isn’t she a bit like you and me...”
