Kitties have a tendency to have far less than nine lives in the mountains. So many variables. Mountain lions, hawks, ticks, to name a few natural enemies of long living cats.

Simba was originally found walking down the streets alone in Portola was sent to the animal shelter in Quincy where we adopted him last year. He was a happy personable boy but he really only bonded with my daughter. She emits heat. He was happy to keep her company each night. We fed him well. We let him go as he pleased (half feral street kitties rarely have the patience to be indoor cats). Every once in awhile I grabbed him and combed all the thistles out of his fur. He loved to play in tall weeds and grasses. Race our car back up the driveway. If you picked him up he instantly purred. You barely had to try. He was pleased. Still, he was often hard to find. The house is big and he liked to hide out under my daughter’s bed. The other day I noticed he seemed to be looking thin and wobbly. And then he started throwing up water. I made a bed for him downstairs as he couldn’t make it up the stairs to her room and I was afraid she might try and hold him tight. He was meowing in pain.

This morning my husband and kids took him in. I wanted to put him down and out of his misery. My daughter wanted to use her 7 year old life saving to try and save him. We had the doc run tests. He had kidney failure. No wonder he was throwing up water. I started wondering about what on earth he could have gotten into and eaten but that could have been anything. The vet seemed to think he might very well have been born this way.

Rest in peace, Simba, who was later renamed Crookshanks, whom my husband always called Puss Without Boots. He was highly entertaining and very sweet and loved to play. My daughter is heart broken.

My your kitty soul find its way back to the earth in another form.